» 


m 


"  I  SAT  DOWN  HEAVILY  IN  HOMESICK  SOLITUDE" 


<£i)e  J&fctorical  Romance*  of  Robert  Wi. 


THE 
MAID-AT-ARMS 


McKINLAY,  STONE  &  MACKENZIE 
NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1901,  by  ROM«T  W.  CMAMHU. 

FHINTtD  IN  TM«  OMITCO  STATES  OF  AMKNICA 


PREFACE 

A  FTER  a  hundred  years  the  history  of  a  great  waf 
r\  waged  by  a  successful  nation  is  commonly  reviewed 
by  that  nation  with  retrospective  complacency. 

Distance  dims  the  panorama;  haze  obscures  the 
ragged  gaps  in  the  pageant  until  the  long  lines  of  vic- 
torious armies  move  smoothly  across  the  horizon,  with 
never  an  abyss  to  check  their  triumph. 

Yet  there  is  one  people  who  cannot  view  the  past 
through  a  mirage.  The  marks  of  the  birth-pangs  re- 
main on  the  land ;  its  struggle  for  breath  was  too  ter- 
rible, its  scars  too  deep  to  hide  or  cover. 

For  us,  the  pages  of  the  past  turn  all  undimmed; 
battles,  brutally  etched,  stand  clear  as  our  own  hills 
against  the  sky — for  in  this  land  we  have  no  haze  to 
soften  truth. 

Treading  the  austere  corridor  of  our  Pantheon,  we, 
too,  come  at  last  to  victory — but  what  a  victory !  Not 
the  familiar,  gracious  goddess,  wide-winged,  crowned, 
bearing  wreaths,  but  a  naked,  desperate  creature,  gaunt, 
dauntless,  turning  her  iron  face  to  the  west. 

The  trampling  centuries  can  raise  for  us  no  golden 
dust  to  cloak  the  flanks  of  the  starved  ranks  that  press 
across  our  horizon. 

Our  ragged  armies  muster  in  a  pitiless  glare  of  light, 
every  man  distinct,  every  battle  in  detail. 

Pangs  that  they  suffered  we  suffer. 

The  faint-hearted  who  failed  are  judged  by  us  as 
though  they  failed  before  the  nation  yesterday;  the 

v 


12822 


PREFACE 

brave  are  re-enshrined  as  we  read ;  the  traitor,  to  us, 
is  no  grotesque  Guy  Fawkes,  but  a  living  Judas  of  to- 
day. 

\\V  remember  that  Ethan  Allen  thundered  on  the 
portal  of  all  earthly  kings  at  Ticonderoga;  hut  \ve 
also  remember  that  his  hatred  for  the  great  state 
of  New  York  brought  him  and  his  men  of  Vermont 
perilously  close  to  the  mire  which  defiled  Charles  Lee 
and  Con  way,  and  which  engulfed  poor  Benedict 
Arnold. 

\\  r  follow  Gates 's  army  with  painful  sympathy  to 
Saratoga,  and  there  we  applaud  a  victory,  but  we  turn 
from  the  commander  in  contempt,  his  brutal,  sell 
shallow  nature  all  revealed. 

We  know  him.  We  know  them  all — Ledyard,  who 
died  stainless,  with  his  own  sword  murdered;  Herki- 
mer,  who  died  because  he  was  not  brave  enough  to 
do  his  duty  and  be  called  a  coward  for  doing  it;  Wool* 
sey,  the  craven  Major  at  the  Middle  Fort,  stammering 
filthy  speeches  in  his  terror  when  Sir  John  Johnson's 
rangers  closed  in;  Poor,  who  threw  his  ',fe  away  for 
vanity  when  that  life  belonged  to  the  land !  Yes,  we 
know  them  all  —  great,  greater,  and  less  great  —  our 
grandfather  Franklin,  who  trotted  through  a  perfectly 
cold  and  selfishly  contemptuous  French  court,  aged, 
alert,  cheerful  to  the  end ;  Schuyler,  calm  and  imper- 
turbable, watching  the  North,  which  w.;  ist, and 
utterly  unmindful  of  self  or  of  the  pack  yelping  at  his 
heels;  Stark,  Morgan,  Murphy,  and  Elerson,  the  brave 
riflemen;  Spencer,  the  interpreter;  Visscher,  ilelmer, 
and  the  Stor. 

Into  our  horizon,  too,  move  terrible  shapes — not 
shadowy  or  lurid,  but  living,  breathing  figures,  who 
turn  their  eyes  on  us  and  hold  out  their  butcher 
hands:  Walter  Butler,  with  his  awful  smile;  Sir  John 
Johnson,  heavy  and  pallid — pallid,  perhaps,  with  the 

.  i 


PREFACE 

memory  of  his  broken  parole;  Barry  St.  Leger,  the 
drunken  dealer  in  scalps;  Guy  Johnson,  organizer 
of  wholesale  murder;  Brant,  called  Thayendanegea, 
brave,  terrible,  faithful,  but  —  a  Mohawk;  and  that 
frightful  she -devil,  Catrine  Montour,  in  whose  hot 
veins  seethed  savage  blood  and  the  blood  of  a  govern- 
or of  Canada,  who  smote  us,  hip  and  thigh,  until  the 
brawling  brooks  of  Tryon  ran  blood ! 

No,  there  is  no  illusion  for  us;  no  splendid  armies, 
banner  -  laden,  passing  through  unbroken  triumphs 
across  the  sunset's  glory;  no  winged  victory,  with 
smooth  brow  laurelled  to  teach  us  to  forget  the  holo- 
caust Neither  can  \ve  veil  our  history,  nor  soften 
our  legends.  Romance  alone  can  justify  a  theme  in- 
spired by  truth ;  for  Romance  is  more  vital  than  his- 
tory, which,  after  all,  is  but  the  fleshless  skeleton  of 
Romance. 

R  W.  C 

BROADALBIN, 

May  26,  1902. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  f>*OB 

I.  THE  ROAD  TO  VARICKS* ,   ,  i 

II.  IN  THE  HALLWAY ••••  13 

III.  COUSINS 23 

IV.  SIR  LUPUS «•«  45 

V.  A  NIGHT  AT  THE  PATROON'S      »•»•••  67 

VI.  DAWN 89 

VII.  AFTERMATH •    .    .  101 

VIII.  RIDING  THE  BOUNDS 117 

IX.  HIDDEN  FIRE 129 

X.  Two  LESSONS 145 

XI.  LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS 160 

XII.  THE  GHOST-RING 178 

XIII.  THE  MAID-AT-ARMS 190 

XIV.  ON  DUTY      205 

XV.  THE  FALSE-FACES 231 

XVI.  ON  SCOUT •••••••244 

XVII.  THE  FLAG •    •    •  252 

XVIII.  ORISKANY 264 

XIX.  THE  HOME  TRAIL 284 

XX.  COCK-CROW 3°3 

XXI.  THE  CRISIS 318 

XXII.  THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  ..    •.•«..  332 


THE  MAID-AT-ARMS 

i 

THE  ROAD  TO  VARICKS' 

WE  drew  bridle  at  the  cross-roads;  he  stretched 
his  legs  in  his  stirrups,  raised  his  arms,  yawned, 
and  dropped  his  huge  hands  upon  either  thigh  with  a 
resounding  slap. 

"Well,  good-bye/'  he  said,  gravely,  but  made  no 
movement  to  leave  me. 

"  Do  we  part  here?"  I  asked,  sorry  to  quit  my  chance 
acquaintance  of  the  Johnstown  highway. 

He  nodded,  yawned  again,  and  removed  his  round 
cap  of  silver-fox  fur  to  scratch  his  curly  head. 

"  We  certainly  do  part  at  these  cross-roads,  if  you  are 
bound  for  Varicks',"  he  said. 

I  waited  a  moment,  then  thanked  him  for  the  pleas- 
ant entertainment  his  company  had  afforded  me,  and 
wished  him  a  safe  journey. 

"  A  safe  journey?"  he  repeated,  carelessly.  "  Oh  yes, 
of  course;  safe  journeys  are  rare  enough  in  these 
parts.  I'm  obliged  to  you  for  the  thought.  You  are 
very  civil,  sir.  Good-bye." 

Yet  neither  he  nor  I  gathered  bridle  to  wheel  our 
horses,  but  sat  there  in  mid-road,  looking  at  each  other. 

"My  name  is  Mount/'  he  said  at  length;  "let  me 

I 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

guess  yours.     \o,  sir!  don't  tell  me.     Give  me  three 
spoi  hunting-knife  against  the 

wheat  straw  you  are  chewing!" 

"With  pleasure,"  I  said,  amused,  "but  you  could 
scarcely  guess  it.  ' 

Your  name  is  Varick?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Butk 

"No.     Look  sharp  to  your  knife,  friend." 

"Oh,  then  I  have  guessed  it.  he  said, coolly;  "your 
name  is  Ormond — and  I'm  glad  of  it 

"Why  are  you  glad  of  it?"  I  asked,  curiously,  won- 
i£,  too,  at  his  knowledge  of  me,  a  stranger. 

"You  will  answer  that  question  for  yourself  when 
you  meet  your  kin,  the  Varicks  and  Butlers,"  he  said; 
and  the  reply  had  an  insolent  ring  that  did  not  please 
me,  yet  I  was  loath  to  quarrel  with  this  boyish  giant 
whose  amiable  company  I  had  found  agreeable  on 
my  long  journey  through  a  land  so  new  to  me. 

"My  friend,"  I  said,  "you  are  blur 

ly  in  spt  lu-  rephe<l,  lazily  swinging  one 

huge  leg  over  the  pommel  of  his  saddle.     Sitting  at 
ease  sunshine,  he  opened  his  fringed  hunting- 

shirt  to  the  breeze  blowing. 

"So  you  go  to  the  Varicks?"  he  mused  aloud,  eyes 
slowly  closing  in  the  sunshine  like  the  brilliant  eyes  of 
a  basking  lynx. 

"  Do  you  know  the  lord  of  the  manor?"  I  asked 
10?    The  patron  • 

'  I  mean  Sir  Lupus  Vai 

"Yes;  I  know  him— I  know  Sir  Lupus.    Wecall  him 
the  patroon,  though  he's  not  of  the  same  litter  as  the 
Livingstons,  the  Cosbys,  the  Phillipses,  Y,m  i 
aers,  and  those  feudal  gentleni  juggle  with  the 

high  justice,  the  middle,  and  the  low — and  who  will 
juggle  no  more." 

2 


THE    ROAD   TO    VARICKS' 

"  Am  I  mistaken/'  said  I,  "  in  taking  you  for  a  Boston 
man?" 

"In  one  sense  you  are,"  he  said,  opening  his  eyes. 
"I  was  born  in  Vermont/' 

"Then  you  are  a  rebel?" 

"Lord!"  he  said,  laughing,  "how  you  twist  our 
English  tongue  1  Tis  his  Majesty  across  the  waters 
who  rebels  at  our  home-made  Congress." 

"Is  it  not  dangerous  to  confess  such  things  to  a 
stranger?"  I  asked,  smiling. 

His  bright  eyes  reassured  me.  "  Not  to  all  strangers," 
he  drawled,  swinging  his  free  foot  over  his  horse's  neck 
and  settling  his  bulk  on  the  saddle.  One  big  hand  foil, 
as  by  accident,  over  the  pan  of  his  long  rifle.  Watch- 
ing, without  seeming  to,  I  saw  his  forefinger  touch  the 
priming,  stealthily,  and  find  it  dry. 

"  You  are  no  King's  man,"  he  said,  calmly. 

"Oh,  do  you  take  me  for  a  rebel,  too?"  I  de- 
manded. 

"No,  sir;  you  are  lu'itlur  the  one  nor  the  other — 
like  a  tadpole  with  legs,  neither  frog  nor  pollywog. 
But  you  will  be." 

"Which?"  I  asked,  laughing. 

"My  wisdom  cannot  draw  that  veil  for  you,  sir,"  he 
said.  "  You  may  take  your  chameleon  color  from  your 
friends  the  Varicks  and  remain  gray,  or  from  the  But- 
lers and  turn  red,  or  from  the  Schuylers  and  turn  blue 
and  buff." 

"  You  credit  me  with  little  strength  of  character,"  I 
said. 

"I  credu  you  with  some  twenty -odd  years  and  no 
experience." 

"  With  nothing  more?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  with  sincerity  and  a  Spanish  rifle — which 
you  may  have  need  of  ere  this  month  of  May  has 
melted  into  June." 

3 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

guess  yours.     No,  sir!  don't  tell  me.     Give  me  three 
spo:  hunting-knife  against  the 

wheat  straw  you  are  chewing!" 

"With  pleasure,"  I  said,  amused,  "but  you  could 
scarcely  guess  it.  ' 

Your  name  is  Varick?" 

1  .-hook  my  head. 

"Hut; 

"No.     Look  sharp  to  your  knife,  friend." 

"Oh,  then  I  have  guessed  it,"  he  said, coolly;  "your 
name  is  Onnond — and  I'm  glad  of 

"  Why  are  you  glad  of  it?"  I  asked,  curiously,  won- 
dering, too,  at  his  knowledge  of  me,  a  stranger. 

"You  will  answer  that  question  for  yourself  when 
you  meet  your  kin,  the  Varicks  and  Butlers,"  he  said; 
and  the  reply  had  an  insolent  ring  that  did  not  please 
me,  yet  I  was  loath  to  quarrel  with  this  boyish  giant 
whose  amiable  company  I  had  found  agreeable  on 
my  long  journey  through  a  land  so  new  to  me. 

"My  friend,"  I  said,  "you  are  blui 

ly  in  speech,  sir,  lu  n/plu-d,  lazily  swinging  one 
huge  leg  over  the  pommel  of  his  saddle.  Sitting  at 
ease  in  the  simMum,  lie  opened  his  fringed  hunting- 
shirt  to  the  breeze  blowing. 

"  So  you  go  to  the  Varicks?"  he  mused  aloud,  eyes 
slowly  closing  in  the  sunshine  like  the  brilliant  eyes  of 
a  basking  lynx. 

"  Do  you  know  the  lord  of  the  manor?"  I  asked 
10?    Thepatro<> 

"  I  mean  Sir  Lupus  Vai 

"Yes;  I  know  him — I  know  Sir  Lupus.  Wecall  him 
the  patroon,  though  he's  not  of  the  same  litter  as  the 
Livingstons,  the  Cosbys,  the  Phillipses,  Van  Re-nssel- 
aers,  and  those  feudal  gentlemen  who  juggle  with  the 
li  justice,  the  middle,  and  the  low — and  who  will 
juggle  no  more." 

2 


THE    ROAD   TO    VARICKS' 

"  Am  I  mistaken/'  said  I,  "  in  taking  you  for  a  Boston 
man?" 

"In  one  sense  you  are/'  he  said,  opening  his  eyes, 
"I  was  born  in  Vermont." 

"Then  you  are  a  rebel?" 

"Lord!"  he  said,  laughing,  "how  you  twist  our 
English  tongue!  Tis  his  Majesty  across  the  waters 
who  rebels  at  our  home-made  Congress." 

"Is  it  not  dangerous  to  confess  such  things  to  a 
stranger?"  I  asked,  smiling. 

His  bright  eyes  reassured  me.  "  Not  to  all  strangers/' 
he  drawled,  swinging  his  free  foot  over  his  horse's  neck 
and  settling  his  bulk  on  the  saddle.  One  big  hand  fell, 
as  by  accident,  over  the  pan  of  his  long  rifle.  Watch- 
ing, without  seeming  to,  I  saw  his  forefinger  touch  the 
priming,  stealthily,  and  find  it  dry. 

"You  are  no  King's  man,"  he  said,  calmly. 

"Oh,  do  you  take  me  for  a  rebel,  too?"  I  de- 
manded. 

"No,  sir;  you  are  neither  the  one  nor  the  other — 
like  a  tadpole  with  legs,  neither  frog  nor  pollywog. 
But  you  will  be." 

"Which?"  I  asked,  laughing. 

"My  wisdom  cannot  draw  that  veil  for  you,  sir/'  he 
said.  "  You  may  take  your  chameleon  color  from  your 
friends  the  Varicks  and  remain  gray,  or  from  the  But- 
lers and  turn  red,  or  from  the  Schuylers  and  turn  blue 
and  buff." 

"You  credit  me  with  little  strength  of  character/'  I 
said. 

"I  credu  you  with  some  twenty -odd  years  and  no 
experience." 

"  With  nothing  more?" 

"Yes,  sir;  with  sincerity  and  a  Spanish  rifle — which 
you  may  have  need  of  ere  this  month  of  May  has 
melted  into  June." 

3 


THE    MAID-AT-AR.MS 

scatters  its  seeds  with  a  faint  report  when  the  pods 
are  touched?  There  is  in  this  land  a  red  bud  which 
has  burst  thundering  into  crimson  bloom,  scattering 
seeds  o'  death  to  the  eight  winds.  And  every  seed  breeds 
a  battle,  and  every  root  drinks  blood!" 

He  straightened  in  his  stirrups,  blue  eyes  ablaze, 
face  burning  under  its  heavy  mask  of  tan  and  dust 

•iow  a  man  when  1  see  him,  I  know  you,  he 
said,  "(iod  save  our  country,  friend,  upon  this  sweet 
May  day." 

I  replied,  tingling.     "And  God  save 
the  King  the  \\l\n\c  pea 

Ideated,  with  a  disagreeable  laugh,  "God 
save  the  King;  he  is  past  all  human  aid  now,  and 
headed  straight  to  hell.  Friend,  let  us  part  ere  we 
quarrel.  You  will  be  with  me  or  against  ;  day 

week.  1  knew  it  was  a  man  I  addressed,  and  no  tavern- 
post'1 

"  Yet  this  brawl  with  Boston  is  no  affair  oi 
I  said,  troubled.     "Who  touches  the  ancient  liber 
of  Kimlishmen   touches  my  country,  that   is    all    I 


liich  country,  m 
•reater  I. 

"And  when  Greater  Britain  divides?" 

"  It  must  not!" 

"It  has." 

I  unbound  the  scarlet  handkerchief  which  I  wore  for 
a  cap,  and  held  it  between  my  fingers  to  dry  its  sweat 
in  the  breeze.  Watching  it  flutter,  I  said  : 

"  Friend,  in  my  country  we  never  cross  the  branch 
till  we  come  to  it,  nor  leave  the  hammock  till  the  river- 
sands  are  beneath  our  feet.  No  hunting-shirt  is  sewed 
till  the  bullet  has  done  its  errand,  nor  do  men  fish  for 
gray  mullet  with  a  hook  and  line.  There  is  always 
time  to  pray  for  wisdom/' 

6 


THE    ROAD    TO    VARICKS 

"Friend/'  replied  Mount,  "I  wear  red  quills  on  my 
moccasins,  you  wear  bits  of  sea -shell.  That  is  all 
the  difference  between  us.  Good-bye.  Varick  Manor 
is  the  first  house  four  miles  ahead/' 

He  wheeled  his  horse,  then,  as  at  a  second  thought, 
checked  him  and  looked  back  at  me. 

"You  will  see  queer  folk  yonder  at  the  patroon's," 
he  said.  "  You  are  accustomed  to  the  manners  of  your 
peers;  you  were  bred  in  that  land  where  hospitality, 
courtesy,  and  deference  are  shown  to  equals;  where 
dignity  and  graciousness  are  expected  from  the  elders; 
where  duty  and  humility  are  inbred  in  the  young.  So 
is  it  with  us — except  where  you  are  going.  The  great 
patroon  families,  with  their  vast  estates,  their  patents, 
their  feudal  systems,  have  stood  supreme  here  for 
years.  Theirs  is  the  power  of  Ijfe  and  death  over  their 
retainers;  they  reign  absolute  in  their  manors,  they 
account  only  to  God  for  their  trusts.  And  they  are 
great  folk,  sir,  even  yet — these  Livingstons,  these  Van 
Rensselaers,  these  Phillipses,  lords  of  their  manors 
still;  Dutch  of  descent,  polished,  courtly,  proud,  bear- 
ing the  title  of  patroon  as  a  noble  bears  his  coronet." 

He  raised  his  hand,  smiling.  "  It  is  not  so  with  the 
Varicks.  They  are  patroons,  too,  yet  kin  to  the  John- 
sons, of  Johnson  Hall  and  Guy  Park,  and  kin  to  the 
Ormond-Butlers.  But  they  are  different  from  either 
Johnson  or  Butler — vastly  different  from  the  Schuylers 
or  the  Livingstons — " 

He  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders  and  dropped  his 
hand :  "  The  Varicks  are  all  mad,  sir.  Good-bye." 

He  struck  his  horse  with  his  soft  leather  heels;  the 
animal  bounded  out  into  the  western  road,  and  his 
rider  swung  around  once  more  towards  me  with  a  gest- 
ure partly  friendly,  partly,  perhaps,  in  menace.  "  Tell 
Sir  Lupus  to  go  to  the  devil!"  he  cried,  gayly,  and 
cantered  away  through  the  golden  dust. 

7 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

I  sat  my  horse  to  watch  him;  presently,  far  a\vay 
on  the  hill's  crest,  the  sun  caught  his  rifle  and  sparkled 
for  a  space,  thpn  the  point  of  white  lire  went  out,  and 
there  was  nothing  on  the  hill-top  save  the  dust  drift- 
in-. 

elier  than  I  had  yet  been  since  that  day,  threG 
months  gone,  when  I  had  set  out  from  our  plantation 
on  the  shallow  Halifax,  which  the  hammock  scared; 
separates  from  the  ocean,  I  gathered  In-idle  with  list- 
less fingers  and  spoke  to  my  mare.  "Isene,  we  must 
be  moving  eastward  —  always  moving,  sweethi 
Come,  lass,  there's  grain  somewhere  m  this  Northern 
land  where  you  have  carried  me."  And  to  myself, 
muttering  aloud  as  I  rode:  "A  fine  name  he  has  gi 
to  my  cousins  the  Vancks.  this  uiant  forest-runner, 
with  his  boy's  face  and  limbs  of  iron!  And  he  was 
none  too  Co  imi^  the  Butlers,  either— cous- 

ins, too,  but  in  what  degree  they  must  tell  me,  1 
don't  know—" 

road  entering  the  forest,  I  ceased  m 
net,  and  again  for  the  thousandth  time  1  sniffed 
at  odors  new  to  me,  and  scanned  leafy  depths  for  those 
familiar   trees  which   stand  warden  in  our  South 
forests.     There  were  pines,  but  they  were  not  our  \  >; 
these  feathery,  dark -stemmed  trees;  there  were  oaks, 
hut  neither  our  golden  water  oaks  nor  our  great . 
and-silver  live-oaks.     Little,  pale  flowers  bloomed 

shadows  only  of  our  bright  blossoms  of 
South;  and  the  rare  birds  I  saw  were  gray  and  sn 
and  chary  of  song,  as  though  the  stillness  that  sl<  pt 
in  th;<  Northern  forest  was  a  danjz  '<>  be  aw. 

ened.     Loneliness  fell  on  me:  my  shoulders  1* 
my  head   huni:   heavily,      [aeoe,    my    mart-,   paced    the 
soft  forest- road  without  a  sound,  so  quietly  that  the 
squatting  rabbit  leaped  from  between  her  forelegs, . 
the  slim,  striped,  squirrel-like  creatures  crouched  par- 

o 


THE   ROAD    TO    VARICKS 

alyzed  as  we  passed  ere  they  burst  into  their  shrill 
chatter  of  fright  or  anger,  I  know  not  which. 

Had  I  a  night  to  spend  in  this  wilderness  I  should 
not  know  where  to  find  a  palmetto  -  fan  for  a  torch, 
where  to  seek  light-wood  for  splinter.  It  was  all  new 
to  me;  signs  read  riddles;  tracks  were  sealed  books; 
the  east  winds  brought  rain,  where  at  home  they 
bring  heaven's  own  balm  to  us  of  the  Spanish  grants 
on  the  seaboard;  the  northwest  winds  that  we  dread 
turn  these  Northern  skies  to  sapphire,  and  set  bees 
a-humming  on  every  bud. 

There  was  no  salt  in  the  air,  no  citrus  scent  in  the 
breeze,  no  heavy  incense  of  the  great  magnolia  bloom 
perfuming  the  wilderness  like  a  cathedral  aisle  where 
a  young  bride  passes,  clouded  in  lace. 

But  in  the  heat  a  heavy,  sweetish  odor  hung ;  bal- 
s;mi  it  is  called,  and  mingled,  too,  with  a  faint  scent 
like  our  bay,  which  comes  from  a  woody  bush  called 
sweet-fern.  That,  and  the  strong  smell  of  the  bluish, 
sh<  rt-needled  pine,  was  ever  clogging  my  nostrils  and 
confusing  me.  Once  I  thought  to  scent  a  'possum, 
but  the  musky  taint  came  from  a  rotting  log;  and  a 
stale  fox  might  have  crossed  to  windward  and  I  not 
noticed,  so  blunted  had  grown  my  nose  in  this  un- 
familiar Northern  world. 

Musing,  restless,  dimly  confused,  and  doubly  watch- 
ful, I  rode  through  the  timber-belt,  and  out  at  last  into 
a  dusty,  sunny  road.  And  straightway  I  sighted  a 
house. 

The  house  was  of  stone,  and  large  and  square  and 
gray,  with  only  a  pillared  porch  instead  of  the  long 
double  galleries  we  build;  and  it  had  a  row  of  win- 
dows in  the  roof,  called  dormers,  and  was  surrounded 
by  a  stockade  of  enormous  timbers,  in  the  four  cor- 
ners of  which  were  set  little  forts  pierced  for  rifle  fire. 

Noble  trees  stood  within  the  fortified  lines;  outside, 

9 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

green  meadows  ringed  the  place  ;  and  the  grass  was 
thick  and  soft,  and  vivid  as  a  green  jewel  in  color-^- 
such  grass  as  we  never  see  save  for  a  spot  here  and 
there  in  swampy  places  where  the  sun  falls  in  early 
spring. 

The  house  was  yet  a  hundred  rods  away  to  the  east- 
:  d.    I  rode  on  slowly,  noticing  the  neglected  fences  on 
either  hand,  and  thought  that  my  cousin  Vanck  might 
have  found  an  hour  to  mend  them,  for  his  pride's  sake. 

Isene,  my  mare,  had  already  scented  the  distant 
stables,  and  was  pricking  forward  her  beautiful  ears 
as  I  Hushing  my  broad  hat  of  plaited  palmetto  and 
placed  it  on  ray  head,  the  better  to  salute  my  hosts  wlu-n 
I  should  ride  to  their  threshold  in  the  Spanish  fashion 
we  followed  at  home. 

So,  cantering  on,  I  crossed  a  log  bridge  which  spanned 
a  ravine,  below  which  I  saw  a  grist-mill ;  and  so  came 
to  the  stockade.    The  gate  was  open  and  unguarded, 
and  I  guided  my  mare  through  without  a  challenge 
from  the  small  corner  forts,  and  rode  straight  to 
porch,  where  an   ancient   negro  serving-man   stood, 
dressed  in  a  tawdry  livery  too  large  for  him.     A 
drew  bridle  he  gave  me  a  dull,  almost  sullen  glar 
and  it  was  not  until  I  spoke  sharply  to  him  that  IK 
shambled  forward  and  descended  the  two  steps  to  hold 
my  stirrup. 

"Is  Sir  Lupus  at  home?"  I  asked,  looking  curiously 
at  this  mute,  dull-eyed  black,  so  different  from  our 
grinning  lads  at  home. 

"  Yaas,  suh,  he  done  come  home,  suh  " 

"  Then  announce  Mr.  George  Ormond,"  I  said. 

He  stared,  but  did  not  offer  to  move. 

"Did  you  hear  me?"  1  asked,  astonished, 
aas,  suh,  I  done  hear  yoh,  suh." 

I  looked  him  over  in  amazement,  then  walked  past 
him  towards  the  door. 

10 


THE    ROAD   TO   VARICKS' 

"Is  you  gwine  look  fob  Mars'  Lupus?"  he  asked, 
barring  my  way  with  one  wrinkled,  blue-black  hand 
on  the  brass  door-knob.  "  Kaze  ef  you  is,  you  don't 
had  better,  suh." 

I  could  only  stare. 

"Kaze  Mars'  Lupus  done  say  he  gwine  kill  de 
fustest  man  what  'sturb  him,  suh,"  continued  the  black 
man,  in  a  listless  monotone.  "  An'  I  spec'  he  gwine 
do  it." 

"Is  Sir  Lupus  abed  at  this  hour?"  I  asked. 

"Yaas,  suh." 

There  was  no  emotion  in  the  old  man's  voice.  Some- 
thing made  me  think  that  he  had  given  the  same  mes- 
sage to  visitors  many  times. 

I  was  very  angry  at  the  discourtesy,  for  he  must  have 
known  when  to  expect  me  from  my  servant,  who  had 
accompanied  me  by  water  with  my  boxes  from  St. 
Augustine  to  Philadelphia,  where  I  lingered  while  he 
went  forward,  bearing  my  letter  with  him.  Yet,  an- 
gry and  disgusted  as  I  was,  there  was  nothing  for  me 
to  do  except  to  swallow  the  humiliation,  walk  in,  and 
twiddle  my  thumbs  until  the  boorish  lord  of  the  manor 
waked  to  greet  his  invited  guest. 

"I  suppose  I  may  enter,"  I  said,  sarcastically. 

"Yaas,  suh;  Miss  Dorry  done  say:  'Cato,'  she  say, 
'ef  de  young  gem 'man  come  when  Mars'  Lupus  am 
drunk,  jess  take  care  n'  him,  Cato ;  put  him  mos'  any- 
where 'cep  in  mah  bed,  Cato,  an'  jess  call  me  ef  I  ain' 
busy  'bout  mah  business — ' " 

Still  rambling  on,  he  opened  the  door,  and  I  entered 
a  wide  hallway,  dirty  and  disordered.  As  I  stood  hesi- 
tating, a  terrific  crash  sounded  from  the  floor  above. 

"Spec'  Miss  Dorry  busy,"  observed  the  old  man, 
raising  his  solemn,  wrinkled  face  to  listen. 

"Uncle,"  I  said,  "is  it  true  that  you  are  all  mad  in 
this  house?" 

II 


THE   MAID-AT-ARMS 

"We  sho'  is,  suh/'  he  replied,  without  interest. 

"Are  you  too  crazy  to  care  for  ni}r  horse?" 

"Oh  no,  suh." 

"Then  go  and  rub  her  down,  and  feed  her,  and  let 
me  sit  here  in  the  hallway.  I  want  to  think. " 

Another  crash  shook  the  ceiling  of  solid  oak;  very 
far  away  I  heard  a  young  girl's  laughter,  tlu  n  a  stifled 
chorus  of  voices  from  the  floor  above. 

"Das  Miss  Dorry  an'  de  chilluns,"  observed  the  old 
man. 

"Who  are  the  others?" 

\\aal  dey  is  Miss  Celia,  an'  Mars'  Harry,  an' 
Mars'  Ruyven,  an'  Mars'  Sam'l,  an'  de  babby,  li'l 
Mars'  Bem 
"All  madr 
"Yaas,  suh ." 

I  11  be,  too,  if  I  remain  here,"  I  said.     "Is  there  an 
inn  near  by?" 
"De  Turkle-dove  an'  Olives." 

"Bout  five  mile  long  de  pike,  suh/' 

"Feed  ray  horse,"  I  said,  sullenly,  and  sat  down 
on  a  settle,  rifle  cradled  between  my  knees,  and  in 
my  heart  wrath  immeasurable  against  my  kin  th* 

Varicks. 


II 

IN  THE  HALLWAY 

SO  this  was  Northern  hospitality!  This  a  North  en 
gentleman's  home,  with  its  cobwebbed  ceiling,  its 
little  window-panes  opaque  with  stain  of  rain  and 
dust,  its  carpetless  floors  innocent  of  wax,  littered  with 
odds  and  ends  —  here  a  battered  riding -cane;  there 
a  pair  of  tarnished  spurs;  yonder1  a  scarlet  hunting- 
coat  a-trail  on  the  banisters,  with  skirts  all  mud  from 
feet  that  mayhap  had  used  it  as  a  mat  in  rainy 
ireatherl 

I  leaned  forward  and  picked  up  the  riding-crop;  its 
cane  end  was  capped  with  heavy  gold.  The  spurs  I 
also  lifted  for  inspection ;  they  were  beautifully  wrought 
in  silver. 

Faugh!  Here  was  no  poverty,  but  the  shiftlessness 
of  a  sot,  trampling  good  things  into  the  mire! 

I  looked  into  the  fireplace.  Ashes  of  dead  embers 
choked  it;  the  andirons,  smoke-smeared  and  crusted, 
stood  out  stark  against  the  sooty  maw  of  the  hearth. 

Still,  for  all,  the  hall  was  made  in  good  and  even 
noble  proportion;  simple,  as  should  be  the  abode  of  a 
gentleman;  over-massive,  perhaps,  and  even  destitute 
of  those  gracious  and  symmetrical  galleries  which  we 
of  the  South  think  no  shame  to  take  pride  in ;  for  the 
banisters  were  brutally  heavy,  and  the  rail  above 
like  a  rampart,  and  for  a  newel-post  some  ass  had  set 
a  bronze  cannon,  breech  upward;  and  it  was  green 
and  beautiful,  but  offensive  to  sane  consistency. 

13 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Standing,  the  better  to  observe  the  hall  on  all  I 
it  came  to  me  that  some  one  had  stripped  a  fine  English 
mansion  of  fine  but  ancient  furniture,  to  bring  it  across 
an  ocean  and  through  a  forest  for  the  embellishment 
of  this  coarse  house.  For  there  were  pictures  in  frames 
showing  generals  and  statesmen  of  the  Ormond-But- 
lers,  one  even  of  the  great  duke  who  fled  to  France ; 
and  there  were  pictures  of  the  Varicks  before  they 
mingled  with  us  Irish  —  apple-cheeked  Dutehi 
cadaverous  youths  bearing  matchlocks,  and  one,  an 
admiral,  with  star  and  sash  across  his  varnish-cracked 
corselet  of  blue  steel,  looking  at  me  with  pale,  smoky 
eyes 

Rusted  suits  of  mail,  and  groups  of  weapons  made 
into  star  shapes  and  circles,  points  outward,  were  ranged 
between  the  heavy  pictures,  each  centred  with  a  moth 
ravaged  stag's  head,  smothered  in  <1 

As  I  slowly  paced  the  panelled  wall,  nose  in  air  to 
observe  these  neglected  trophies,  I  came  to  anoi 
picture,  hung  all  alone  near  the  wall  where  it  passes 
under  the  staircase,  and  at  first,  for  the  darkness,  I 
Id  not  see. 

Imperceptibly  the  outlines  of  the  shape  grew  in  the 
gloom  from  a  deep,  rich  background,  and  I  made  out 
a  figure  of  a  youth  all  cased  in  armor  save  for  tlu 
helmet,  which  was  borne  in  one  smooth,  blue-veined 
hand. 

The  face,  too,  began  to  assume  fon;i ;  rounded,  deli- 
cate, crowned  with  a  mass  of  golden  hair;  and  sud- 
denly I  perceived  the  eyes,  and  they  seemed  to  open 
sweetly,  like  violets  in  a  dim  wood. 

"What  Ormond  is  this?"  I  muttered,  bewitched,  yet 
sullen  to  see  such  feminine  roundness  in  any  youth 
and,  with  my  sleeve  of  buckskin,  I  rubbed  the  dust 
from  the  gilded  plate  set  in  the  lower  frame. 

"  The  Maid-at-Arms,"  I  read  aloud. 

14 


IN    THE    HALLWAY 

Then  there  came  to  me,  at  first  like  the  far  ring  of  a 
voice  scarcely  heard  through  southern  winds,  the  faint 
echo  of  a  legend  told  me  ere  my  mother  died — perhaps 
told  me  by  her  in  those  drifting  hours  of  a  child- 
hood nigh  forgotten.  Yet  I  seemed  to  see  white,  sun- 
drenched sands  and  the  long,  blue  swell  of  a  summer 
sea,  and  I  heard  winds  in  the  palms,  and  a  song — truly 
rt  was  my  mother's;  I  knew  it  now — and,  of  a  sudden, 
the  words  came  borne  on  a  whisper  of  ancient  melody: 

"  This  for  the  deed  she  did  at  Ashby  Farms, 
Helen  of  Ormond,  Royal  Maid-at-Anns  I" 

Memory  was  stirring  at  last,  and  the  gray  legend 
grew  from  the  past,  how  a  maid,  Helen  of  Ormond,  for 
love  of  her  cousin,  held  prisoner  in  his  own  house  at 
Ashby-de-la-Zouch,  sheared  off  her  hair,  clothed  her 
limbs  in  steel,  and  rode  away  to  seek  him;  and  how 
she  came  to  the  house  at  Ashby  and  rode  straight  into 
the  gateway,  forcing  her  horse  to  the  great  hall  where 
her  lover  lay,  and  flim^  him,  all  in  chains,  across  her 
saddle-bow,  riding  like  a  demon  to  freedom  through 
the  Desmonds,  his  enemies.  Ah  1  now  my  throat  was 
aching  with  the  memory  of  the  song,  and  of  that 
strange  line  I  never  understood — "  Wearing  the  ghost- 
ring!" — and,  of  themselves,  the  words  grew  and  died, 
formed  on  my  silent  lips : 

*  This  for  the  deed  she  did  at  Ashby  Farms, 
Helen  of  Ormond,  Royal  Maid-at-Arms  I 

**  Though  for  all  time  the  lords  of  Ormond  be 
Butlers  to  Majesty, 
Yet  shall  new  honors  fail  upon  her 
Who,  armored,  rode  for  love  to  Ashby  Farms | 
Let  this  her  title  be :  A  Maid-at-Anns  I 

*  Serene  mid  love's  alarms, 

For  all  time  shall  the  Maids-at-Anns, 

IS 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Wearing  th*  ghost-ring,  triumph  with  their  constancy. 

And  sweetly  conquer  with  a  sigh 

And  vanquish  with  a  tear 

Captains  a  trembling  world  might  fear. 

"  This  for  the  deed  she  did  at  Ashby  Farms* 
Helen  of  Ormond,  Royal  Maid-at-Anns  I" 

Staring  at  the  picture,  lips  quivering  with  the 
Boundless  words,  such  wivtchc-d  loneliness  came  over 
me  that  a  dryness  in  my  throat  set  me  gulping,  and 
I  groped  my  way  back  to  the  settle  by  the  fireplace 
and  sat  down  heavily  in  homesick  solitude. 

Then  hate  came,  a  quick  hatred  for  these  Northern 
skies,  and  these  strangers  of  the  North  who  d, 
( l.urn  km  with  me,  to  lure  me  northward  with  false 
offer  of  council  and  mockery  of  hospitality. 

.s  on  my  feet  again  in  a  flash,  hot  with  anger, 
ready  with  insult  to  meet  insult,  for  I  meant  to  go  ere 
I  had  greeted  my  host — an  insult,  indeed,  and  a  dead- 
ly one  among  us.  Furious,  I  bent  to  snatch  my  riilc- 
from  the  settle  where  it  lay,  and,  as  I  flung  it  to  mv 
shoulder,  wheeling  to  go,  my  eyes  fell  upon  a  fijj 
stealing  down  the  stairway  from  above,  a  woman  in 
flowered  silk,  bare  of  throat  and  elbow,  fingers  scarce- 
ly touch i TILT  the  banisters  as  she  mo 

She  hesitated,  one  foot  poised  for  the  step  below; 
then  it  fell  noiselessly,  and  she  stood  ne. 

Anger  died  out  under  the  level  beauty  of  lu-r  i^i/c. 
I  bowed,  just  as  I  caught  a  trace  of  mockery  in  tin 
mouth's  scarlet  curve,  and  bowed  the  lower  for  it,  too, 
straightening  slowly  to  the  dignity   her  mischievous 
eyes  seemed  to  flout;  and  her  Lips,  too,  defied  me,  .ill 
silently — nay,  in  every  limb  and  from  every  finger-tij 
she  seemed  to  flout  me,  and  the  slow,  deep  courtesy 
made  me  was  too  slow  and  far  too  low,  and  her  re- 
covery a  marvel  of  plastic  malice. 

16 


IN   THE    HALLWAY 

"My  cousin  Ormond?"  she  lisped; — "I  am  Dorothy 
Varick." 

We  measured  each  other  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

There  was  a  trace  of  powder  on  her  bright  hair, 
like  a  mist  of  snow  on  gold ;  her  gown's  yoke 
was  torn,  for  all  its  richness,  and  a  wisp  of  lace  in 
rags  fell,  clouding  the  delicate  half  -  sleeve  of  China 
silk. 

Her  face,  colored  like  palest  ivory  with  rose,  was  no 
doll's  face,  for  all  its  symmetry  and  a  forgotten  patch 
to  balance  the  dimple  in  her  rounded  chin ;  it  was  even 
noble  in  a  sense,  and,  if  too  chaste  for  sensuous  beauty, 
yet  touched  with  a  strange  and  pensive  sweetness,  like 
'witched  marble  waking  into  flesh. 

Suddenly  a  voice  came  from  above :  "  Dorothy,  come 
here!" 

My  cousin  frowned,  glanced  at  me,  then  laughed. 

"Dorothy,  I  want  my  watch!"  repeated  the  voice. 

Still  looking  at  me,  my  cousin  slowly  drew  from  her 
bosom  a  huge,  jewelled  watch,  and  displayed  it  for  my 
inspection. 

"We  were  matching  mint-dates  with  shillings  for 
father's  watch;  I  won  it,"  she  observed. 

"Dorothy!"  insisted  the  voice. 

"Oh,  la!"  she  cried,  impatiently,  "will  you  hush?" 

"No,  I  won't!" 

"Then  our  cousin  Ormond  will  come  up-stairs  and 
give  you  what  Paddy  gave  the  kettle-drum — won't 
you?"  she  added,  raising  her  eyes  to  me. 

"And  what  was  that?"  I  asked,  astonished. 

Somebody  on  the  landing  above  went  off  into  fits 
of  laughter;  and,  as  I  reddened,  my  cousin  Dorothy, 
too,  began  to  laugh,  showing  an  edge  of  small,  white 
teeth  under  the  red  lip's  line. 

"Are  you  vexed  because  we  laugh?"  she  asked. 

My  tongue  stung  with  a  retort,  but  I  stood  silent 

17 


THE    MAID-AT-AKMS 

These  Varicks  might  forget  their  manners,  but  I  might 
not  forget   mine. 

She  honored  me  with  a  smile,  sweeping  me  from 
d  to  foot  with  her  bright  eyes.     My  buckskins  were 
dirty  from  travel,  and  the  thrums  in  rags;  and  1  k: 
that  she  noted  all  these  matters. 

"Cousin,"  she  lisped,  "I  fear  you  are  something  of 
a  macaroni." 

Instantly  a  fresh  volley  of  laugh UT  rattled  from  the 
landing — such  clear,  hearty  laughter  that  it  infected 
me,  spite  my  chagrin. 

"He's  a  good  fellow,  our  cousin  Onnond!"  came  a 
fresh  young  voice  from  above. 

"  He  shall  be  one  of  us!"  cried  another ;  and  I  thought 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  flowered  petticoat  whisked  f  i 
the  gallery's  edge. 

1  looked  at  my  cousin  Dorothy  Varick;  she  stood 
at  gaze,  laughter  in  her  eyes,  but  the  mouth  < 

usin  Dorothy,"  said  I,  "I  believe  I  am  a  good 
fellow,  even  though  ragged  and  respectable.     If  these 
qualities  be  not  bars  to  your  society,  give  me  \ 
hand  in  fellowship,  for  upon  my  soul  I  am  ni^h 
for  a  welcome  from  somebody  in  this  unfriendly  land." 

Still  at  gaze,  she  slowly  raised  her  arm  and  held 
out  to  me  a  fresh,  sun-tanned  hand ;  and  I  had  im 
to  press  it,  but  a  sudden  shyness  scotched  me,  and,  as 
the  soft  fingers  rested  in  my  palm,  I  raised  them  and 
touched  them  with  ray  lips  in  silent  respect. 

"You  have  pretty  manners,"  she  said,  looking  at 
her  hand,  but  not  withdrawing  it  from  where  it  TV 
Then,  of  an  impulse,  her  fingers  closed  on  mine  firmly, 
and  she  looked  me  straight  in  the  eye. 

"You  are  a  good  comrade;   welcome  to  Varicks', 
in  Onnond!" 

Our  hands  fell  apart,  and,  glancing  up,  I  perceived 
a  group  of  youthful  barbarians  on  the  stairs,  intently 

18 


IN   THE    HALLWAY 

watching  us.  As  my  eyes  fell  on  them  they  scattered, 
then  closed  in  together  defiantly.  A  red-haired  lad  of 
seventeen  came  down  the  steps,  offering  his  hand  awk- 
wardly. 

"I'm  Ruyven  Varick,"  he  said.  "These  girls  are 
fools  to  bait  men  of  our  age — "  He  broke  off  to  seize 
Dorothy  by  the  arm.  "  Give  me  that  watch,  you  vixen ! " 

His  sister  scornfully  freed  her  arm,  and  Ruyvfn 
stood  sullenly  clutching  a  handful  of  torn  lace. 

"Why  don't  you  present  us  to  our  cousin  Ormond?" 
spoke  up  a  maid  of  sixteen. 

"Who  wants  to  make  your  acquaintance?"  retort- 
ed Ruyven,  edging  again  towards  his  sister. 

I  protested  that  I  did ;  and  Dorothy,  with  mock  em- 
pressement,  presented  me  to  Cecile  Butler,  a  slender, 
olive-skinned  girl  with  pretty,  dark  eyes,  who  offered 
me  her  hand  to  kiss  in  such  determined  manner  that 
I  bowed  very  low  to  cover  my  smile,  knowing  that  she 
had  witnessed  my  salute  to  my  cousin  Dorothy  and 
meant  to  take  nothing  less  for  herself. 

"And  those  boys  yonder  are  Harry  Varick  and 
Sam  Butler,  my  cousins,"  observed  Dorothy,  non- 
chalantly relapsing  into  barbarism  to  point  them 
out  separately  with  her  pink-tipped  thumb ;  "  and  that 
lad  on  the  stairs  is  Benny.  Come  on,  we're  to  throw 
hunting-knives  for  pennies.  Can  you? — but  of  course 
you  can." 

I  looked  around  at  my  barbarian  kin,  who  had  pro- 
duced hunters'  knives  from  recesses  in  their  clothing, 
and  now  gathered  impatiently  around  Dorothy,  who 
appeared  to  be  the  leader  in  their  collective  deviltries. 

"All  the  same,  that  watch  is  mine,"  broke  out  Ruy- 
ven, defiantly.  "I'll  leave  it  to  our  cousin  Ormond — " 
but  Dorothy  cut  in :  "  Cousin,  it  was  done  in  this  man- 
ner :  father  lost  his  timepiece,  and  the  law  is  that  who- 
ever finds  things  about  the  house  may  keep  them.  So 

19 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

we  all  ran  to  the  porch  where  father  had  fallen  <>IT  his 
horse  last  ni^ht,  and  I  think  we  all  saw  it  at  the  same 
and  I,  being  the  older  and  stronger — " 
>u're  not  the  stronger!"  cried  Sam  and.  Harry, 
in  the  same  breath. 

"I/'  repeated  Dorothy,  serenely,  "being  not  only 
older  than  Ruyven  by  a  year,  but  also  stronger  than 
y  m  all  together,  kept  the  spite  of  your  silly 

el,  mor — and  mean  to  keej> 
"Then  we  matched  shillings  for  it!"  cried  Cecil  e. 

was  only  fair;  we  all  discovered  it  me<t 

Dorothy.    "But   Ruyven   matched    with   a   Span 
piece  where  the  date  was  under  the  reverse,  and  he 
says  he  won.    Did  he,  cous 
"Mint -dates  always  match!"  said  Ruyvei 

ien  of  our  age  understand  that.  Cousin  George, 
don't  i 

"Have  I  not  won  f  asked  Dorothy,  looking 

at  me.     "  If  I  have  not,  tell 

With  that,  Sam  Butler  and  Harry  set  up  a  clairmr 
:    they  and  Cecile   had  been   unfairly  dealt    with, 
all  appealed  to  me  until,  bewildered,  I  sat  d< 
he  stairs  and  looked  wistfully  at  Dorothy. 
"In  Heaven's  name,  cousins,  give  me  something 
to  eat  and  drink  before  you  bring  your  lawsuit 
me  f«»r  judgment,"  I  &> 

"Oh  Dorothv  her  lip,  "I  forgot.   Come 

with  me,  cousin1"    She  seized  a  bell-rope  and  rang  it 
furiously,  and  a  loud  gong  filled  the  hall  with  its  brazen 

hut  nobody  came. 
"Where  the  devil  are  those  blacks?"  said  Dorothy, 

MR  off  her  words  with  a  crisp  snap  that  startled 
more  than  her  profanity.     "Catol    Where  are  you, 
you  lazy — " 

"Ahm  hyah.  Miss  Dorry,"  came  a  patient  voice 
trom  the  kitchen  sta 

20 


IN    THE    HALLWAY 

"Then  bring  something  to  eat — bring  it  to  the  gun- 
room instantly — something  for  Captain  Ormond — and 
a  bottle  of  Sir  Lupus's  own  claret — and  two  glasses — " 

"Three  glasses  1"  cried  Ruyven. 

" Four ! "     " Five ! "  shouted  Harry  and  Cecile. 

"Six!"  added  Samuel;  and  little  Benny  piped  out, 
"Theven!" 

"Then  bring  two  bottles,  Cato,"  called  out  Doro- 
thy. 

"I  want  some  small-beer  I"  protested  Benny. 

"Oh,  go  suck  your  thumbs,"  retorted  Ruyven,  with 
an  elder  brother's  brutality ;  but  Dorothy  ordered  the 
small-beer,  and  bade  the  negro  hasten. 

"  We  all  mean  to  bear  you  company,  Cousin,"  said 
Ruyven,  cheerfully,  patting  my  arm  for  my  reassur- 
ance ;  and  truly  I  lacked  something  of  assurance  among 
these  kinsmen  of  mine,  who  appeared  to  lack  none. 

"You  spoke  of  me  as  Captain  Ormond/'  I  said, 
turning  with  a  smile  to  Dorothy. 

"Oh,  it's  all  one,"  she  said,  gayly;  "if  you're  not 
a  captain  now,  you  will  be  soon,  I'll  wager — but  I'm 
not  to  talk  of  that  before  the  children — " 

"You  may  talk  of  it  before  me,"  said  Ruyven. 
"Harry,  take  Benny  and  Sam  and  Cecile  out  of  ear- 
shot—" 

"Pooh!"  cried  Harry,  "I  know  all  about  Sir  John's 
new  regiment — " 

"Will  you  hush  your  head,  you  little  fool  I"  cut  in 
Dorothy.  "Servants  and  asses  have  long  ears,  and 
I'll  clip  yours  if  you  bray  again!" 

The  jingling  of  glasses  on  a  tray  put  an  end  to  the 
matter;  Cato,  the  black,  followed  by  two  more  blacks, 
entered  the  hall  bearing  silver  salvers,  and  at  a  nod 
from  Dorothy  we  all  trooped  after  them. 

"Guests  first!"  hissed  Dorothy,  in  a  fierce  whisper, 
as  Ruyven  crowded  past  me,  and  he  slunk  back,  mor- 

21 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

tified,  while  Dorothy,  in  a  languid  voice  and  with  the 
air  of  a  duchess,  drawled,  "Your  arm,  cousin,  and 
slipped  her  hand  into  ray  arm,  tossing  her  head  with 
a  heavy-lidded,  insolent  glance  at  poor  kuyven. 

And  thus  we  entered  the  gun-room,  I  with  Dorothy 
Varick  on  my  arm,  and  behind  me,  though  I  was  not 
at  first  aware  of  it,  Harry,  gravely  conducting  Cecile 
in  a  similar  manner,  followed  by  Samuel  and  funny, 
arm-in-arm,  while  Ruyven  trudged  sulkily  by  him 
self. 


Ill 

COUSINS 

T^HERE  was  a  large,  discolored  table  in  the  armory, 
1  or  gun-room,  as  they  called  it ;  and  on  this,  with- 
out a  cloth,  our  repast  was  spread  by  Cato,  while  the 
other  servants  retired,  panting  and  grinning  like  over- 
fat  hounds  after  a  pack-run. 

And,  by  Heaven!  they  lacked  nothing  for  solid  silver, 
my  cousins  the  Varicks,  nor  yet  for  fine  glass,  which 
I  observed  without  appearance  of  vulgar  curiosity 
while  Cato  carved  a  cold  joint  of  butcher's  roast  and 
cracked  the  bottles  of  wine  —  a  claret  that  perfumed 
the  room  like  a  garden  in  September. 

"  Cousin  Dorothy,  I  have  the  honor  to  raise  my  glass 
to  you,"  I  said. 

"I  drink  your  health,  Cousin  George/'  she  said, 
gravely — "Benny,  let  that  wine  alone  I  Is  there  no 
small-beer  there,  that  you  go  coughing  and  staining 
your  bib  over  wine  forbidden?  Take  his  glass  away, 
Ruyven!  Take  it  quick,  I  say!" 

Benny,  deprived  of  his  claret,  collapsed  moodily 
into  a  heap,  and  sat  swinging  his  legs  and  clipping 
the  table,  at  every  kick  of  his  shoon,  until  my  wine 
danced  in  my  glass  and  soiled  the  table. 

"Stop  that,  you!"  cried  Cecile. 

Benny  subsided,  scowling. 

Though  Dorothy  was  at  some  pains  to  assure  me 
that  they  had  dined  but  an  hour  before,  that  did  not 
appear  to  blunt  their  appetites.  And  the  manner  in 

23 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

which  they  drank  astonished  me,  a  glass  of  wine  be- 
iniT  considered  sufficient  for  young  ladies  at  home, 
and  a  half-glass  for  lads  like  Harry  and  Sam.  Yet 
when  I  emptied  my  glass  Dorothy  emptied  hers,  and 
the  servants  refilled  hers  when  they  refilled  mine,  till 
I  grew  anxious  and  watched  to  see  that  her  face  Bushed 
not,  but  had  my  anxiety  for  my  pains,  as  she  changed 
not  a  pulse-beat  for  all  the  red  wine  she  swallowed. 

And  Lordl  how  busy  were  her  little  wluu  Uvth, 
while  her  pretty  eyes  roved  about,  watchful  that  onK-r 
be  kept  at  this  gypsy  repast.  Cecile  and  Harry  fell 
to  struggling  for  a  glass,  which  snapped  and  flew  to 
flakes  under  their  clutching  fingers,  drenching  them 

"Silence!"  cried  Dorothy,  rising,  eyes  ablaze.  "Do 
you  wish  our  cousin  Ormond  to  take  us  for  manner- 
less savaires?" 

retorted  Harry.    "We  are!" 

"Oh,  Lud!"  drawled  Cecile,  languidly  f.-mninir  her 
flushed  face,  "  I  would  I  had  drunk  small-beer — Harry, 
if  you  kick  me  again  Til  pinch!" 

s  a  shame,"  observed  Ruyven.  "th.it  Lrentlemen 
of  our  age  may  not  take  a  glass  of  wine  together  in 

;\>rt" 
"Your  age!"  laughed  Dorothy.    "Cousin  Ormond  is 

•hree.  silly,  and  I'm  eighteen — or  close  t< 
"And  I'm  seventeen,"  retorted  Ruyven. 
"Yet   I   throw  you  at  wrestling,"  observed  Doro- 
thy, with  a  shrug. 

"Oh,  your  big  feet!  Who  can  move  them?"  he  re- 
joined. 

"Big  feet?    Mine?"    She  bent,  tore  a  satin  shoe 
from  her  foot,  and  slapped  it  down  on  the  table  in  chai- 
se to  all  to  equal  it — a  small,  silver-buckled  thing 
of  Paddington's  make,  with  a  smart  red  heel  and  a 
:ider  body,  slim  as  the  crystal  slipper  of  romance. 

24 


COUSINS 

There  was  no  denying  its  shapeliness;  presently 
she  removed  it,  and,  stooping,  slowly  drew  it  on  her 
foot. 

"  Is  that  the  shoe  Sir  John  drank  your  health  from?" 
sneered  Ruyven. 

A  rich  flush  mounted  to  Dorothy's  hair,  and  she 
caught  at  her  wine-glass  as  though  to  throw  it  at  her 
brother. 

"A  married  man,  too,"  he  laughed — "Sir  John 
Johnson,  the  fat  baronet  of  the  Mohawks — " 

"Damn  you,  will  you  hold  your  silly  tongue?"  she 
cried,  and  rose  to  launch  the  glass,  but  I  sprang  to  my 
feet,  horrified  and  astounded,  arm  outstretched. 

"Ruyven,"  I  said,  sharply,  "is  it  you  who  fling 
such  a  taunt  to  shame  your  own  kin?  If  there  is  aught 
of  impropriety  in  what  this  man  Sir  John  has  done, 
is  it  not  our  affair  with  him  in  place  of  a  silly  gibe  at 
Dorothy?" 

"I  ask  pardon,"  stammered  Ruyven;  "had  there 
been  impropriety  in  what  that  fool,  Sir  John,  did  I 
should  not  have  spoke,  but  have  acted  long  since, 
Cousin  Ormond." 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  I  said,  warmly.  "Forgive  me, 
Ruyven. 

" Oh,  la!"  said  Dorothy,  her  lips  twitching  to  a  smile, 
"  Ruyven  only  said  it  to  plague  me.  I  hate  that  baro- 
net, and  Ruyven  knows  it,  and  harps  ever  on  a  foolish 
drinking-bout  where  all  fell  to  the  table,  even  Walter 
Butler,  and  that  slow  adder  Sir  John  among  the  first. 
And  they  do  say,"  she  added,  with  scorn,  "that  the 
baronet  did  find  one  of  my  old  shoon  and  filled  it  to 
my  health — damn  him! — " 

"Dorothy!"  I  broke  in,  "who  in  Heaven's  name 
taught  you  such  shameful  oaths?" 

"  Oaths?"  Her  face  burned  scarlet.  "  Is  it  a  shame- 
ful oath  to  say  'Damn  him'?" 


THE    MAID- AT- ARMS 

"It  is  a  common  oath  men  use — not  gentlewomen/' 
I  said. 

"Oh!  I  supposed  it  harmless.  They  all  laugh  when 
I  say  it — father  and  Guy  Johnson  and  the  rest;  and 
they  swear  other  oaths — wofdi  1  would  not  say  it  1 
could — but  I  did  not  know  there  was  harm  in  a  good 
smart  'damn! 

She  leaned  back,  one  slender  hand  playing  with  UK* 
stem  of  her  glass;  and  the  flush  faded  from  her  face 
like  an  afterglow  from  a  serene  hon/.m. 

I  fear/'  she  said,  "you  of  the  South  wear  a  polish 
we  lack." 

"Best  mirror  your  faults  in  it  while  you  ha\v 
chance,"  said  Harry,  promi 

"We  lack  polish— even  Walter  Butler  and  (inv 
Johnson  sneer  at  us  under  father's  nose/'  said  Ruy- 
ven.  "What  the  devil  is  it  in  us  Varicks  that  set 
folk  \vhi>i>iTini:  and  snu-lvt-nnir  and  nudging  a 

or?  Am  I  parti-colored,  like  an  Oneida  at  a  scalp- 
dance?  Docs  Harry  wear  bat's  wings  for  ears?  Are 
Dorothy's  legs  crooked,  that  they  al 

Its  y.ur  ivd  head,"  observed  Cecile.  "The  good 
folk  think  to  see  the  noon-sun  setting  in  the  wood — " 

"Oh,  tally  I  you  always  say  that,"  snapped  Ruy- 
ven. 

Dorothy,  leaning  forward,  looked  at  me  with  dreamy 
blue  eyes  that  saw  beyond  me 

"We  are  doubtless  a  little  mad,  ...  as  they  say," 
she  mused  "  Otherwise  we  seem  to  be  like  other  folk. 
We  have  clothing  befitting,  when  we  choose  to  wear  1 1 ; 
we  were  schooled  in  Albany;  we  are  people  of  quality. 
like  the  other  patroons;  we  lack  nothing  for  servants 
or  tenants — what  ails  them  all,  to  nudge  and  stare  and 
grin  when  we  pass?" 

"Mr.  Livingston  says  our  deportment  shocks  all," 
murmured  Cecile. 

26 


COUSINS 

"  The  Schuylers  will  have  none  of  us,"  added  Harry, 
plaintively — "and  I  admire  them,  too." 

"  Oh,  they  all  conduct  shamefully  when  I  go  to  school 
in  Albany/'  burst  out  Sammy;  "and  I  thrashed  that 
puling  young  patroon,  too,  for  he  saw  me  and  refused 
my  salute.  But  I  think  he  will  render  me  my  bow  next 
time." 

"  Do  the  quality  not  visit  you  here?"  I  asked  Doro- 
thy. 

"Visit  us?  No,  cousin.  Who  is  to  receive  them? 
Our  mother  is  dead." 

Cecile  said:  "Once  they  did  come,  but  Uncle  Var- 
ick  had  that  mistress  of  Sir  John's  to  sup  with  them 
and  they  took  offence." 

"Mrs.  Van  Cortlandt  said  she  was  a  painted  hus- 
sy— "  began  Harry. 

"  The  Van  Rensselaers  left  the  house,  vowing  that 
Sir  Lupus  had  used  them  shamefully,"  added  Cecile; 
"  and  Sir  Lupus  said  :  '  Tush !  tush !  When  the  Van 
Rensselaers  are  too  good  for  the  Putnams  of  Tribes 
Hill  I'll  eat  my  spurs  1'  and  then  he  laughed  till  he 
cried." 

"They  never  came  again;  nobody  of  quality  ever 
came;  nobody  ever  comes,"  said  Ruyven. 

"Excepting  the  Johnsons  and  the  Butlers,"  cor- 
rected Sammy. 

"And  then  everybody  geths  tight;  they  were  here 
lath  night  and  Uncle  Varick  is  sthill  abed,"  said  little 
Benny,  innocently. 

"Will  you  all  hold  your  tongues?"  cried  Dorothy, 
fiercely.  "Father  said  we  were  not  to  tell  anybody 
that  Sir  John  and  the  Ormond-Butlers  visited  us." 

"Why  not?"  I  asked. 

Dorothy  clasped  both  hands  under  her  chin,  rested 
her  bare  elbows  on  the  table,  and  leaned  close  to  me, 
whispering  confidentially :  "  Because  of  the  war  with  the 

27 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Boston  people.  The  country  is  overrun  with  rebels  — 
n-bel  troops  at  Albany,  rebel  gunners  at  Stanwix. 
rebels  at  Edward  and  Hunter  and  Johnstown.  A 
scout  of  ten  men  came  here  last  week;  they  were  har- 
rying a  war-party  of  Brant's  Mohawks,  and  St< 

s  with  them,  and  that  great  ox  in  buckskin,  Jack 
Mount     And  do  you  know  what  he  said  to  father? 
He  said, 'For  Heaven's  sake,  turn  red  or  blue, 
Lupus,  for  if  you  don't  we'll  hang  you  to  a  crab- 
apple  and  chance  the  color/    And  father  said,  'I'm 
no   partisan    King's  man';    and  Jack   Mom 
'You're  the  joker  of  the  pack,  are  you?'    And  fat 
i ,  '  I'm  not   in  the  shuffle,  and  you  can  bear 
out,  you    rogue!'    And    then    Jack   Mount   wagged 
his  big   forefinger  at  him  and  raid,  'Sir   Lupu.s   if 
you're  but  a  joker,  one  or  t'otlu :  mst  discard 

you  I'    And  they  rode  away,  priming  t 
laughing,  and  father  swore  and  shook  his  cant 
tlu, 

In  lur  eagerness  her  lips  almost  touched  my  ear, 
and  her  breath  wanned  ek. 

th.it  1  saw  and  heard,  whispered,  ";md 

1   Know  father  told  Walter  Butler,  for  a  scout  cr 
yesterday,  saying  that  a  scout  from  the  Rangers  and 
the  Royal  Greens  had  crossed  the  hills,  and  I  saw 
some  of  Sir  John's  Scotch  loons  rid  mi;  like  warlo 
on  the  new  road,  and  that  great  fool,  Francy  McCraw, 
tearing   along   at   their  head   and  crowing   like   a 
k." 

"Cousin,  cousin,"  I  protested,  "all  this — .ill  t 
names — even  the  causes  and  the  manners  of  this  war, 
are  incomprehensible  to  me." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  in  surprise,  "have  you   in  Florida 
not  heard  of  our  war?" 

"Yes,  yes  —  all  know   that   war    is   with  you,   hut 
that    is    all.      I    know    that    these    Boston   men 

28 


COUSINS 

fighting  our  King ;  but  why  do  the  Indians  take 
part?" 

She  looked  at  me  blankly,  and  made  a  little  gesture 
of  dismay. 

"I  see  I  must  teach  you  history,  cousin/'  she  said. 
"  Father  tells  us  that  history  is  being  made  all  about 
us  in  these  days — and,  would  you  believe  it?  Benny 
took  it  that  books  were  being  made  in  the  woods  all 
around  the  house,  and  stole  out  to  see,  spite  of  the  law 
that  father  made—" 

"Who  thaw  me?"  shouted  Benny. 

"  Hush  I     Be  quiet  I "  said  Dorothy. 

Benny  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  beat  upon  the  table, 
howling  defiance  at  his  sister  through  Harry's  shouts 
of  laughter. 

"Silence!"  cried  Dorothy,  rising,  flushed  and  furi- 
ous. "Is  this  a  corn-feast,  that  you  all  sit  yelping  in 
a  circle?  Ruyven,  hold  that  door,  and  see  that  no  one 
follows  us — " 

"What  for?"  demanded  Ruyven,  ri  ng.  "If  you 
mean  to  keep  our  cousin  Ormond  to  yourself — " 

"I  wish  to  discuss  secrets  with  my  cousin  Ormond/' 
said  Dorothy,  loftily,  and  stepped  from  her  chair,  nose 
in  the  air,  and  that  heavy-lidded,  insolent  glance  which 
once  before  had  withered  Ruyven,  and  now  withered 
him  again. 

"We  will  go  to  the  play-room/'  she  whispered,  pass- 
ing me;  "that  room  has  a  bolt;  they'll  all  be  kicking 
at  the  door  presently.  Follow  me/' 

Ere  we  had  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs  we  heard 
a  yell,  a  rush  of  feet,  and  she  laughed,  crying :  "  Did 
I  not  say  so?  They  are  after  us  now  full  bark!  Come!" 

She  caught  my  hand  in  hers  and  sped  up  the  few 
remaining  steps,  then  through  the  upper  hallway, 
guiding  me  the  while  her  light  feet  flew;  and  I,  em- 
barrassed, bewildered,  half  laughing,  half  shamed 

29 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

to  go  a-racing  through  a  strange  house  in  such  absurd 
a  fashion. 

"Here!"  she  panted,  dragging  me  into  a  great.  1 

i  uber  and  bolting  the  door,  then  leaned  breathless 
against  the  wail  to  listen  as  the  chase  galloped  up. 
loring,  kicking  and  beating  on  panel  and  wall. 
baffled. 

ITiey're  raging  to  lose  their  new  coi  he 

breathed,  smiling  across  at  me  with  a  glint  of  ]>n<U  in 
her  eyes.  "They  all  think  mightily  of  you,  and  now 
they'll  be  mad  to  follow  you  lik  i  pups  the  wli 

all  day  long."    She  tossed  her  head  re  good 

lads,  and  Cccile  is  a  sweet  child,  too,  but  they  must  be 
made  to  understand  that  there  are  moments  when  y.  .u 
and  I  desire  to  be  alone  together/' 

"Of  course,"  I  said,  gravely. 

»u  and  I  have  much  to  consider,  much  to  discuss 
in  these  uncertain  days,"  she  said,  confidently.  "And 
we  cannot  ba  ble  matters  of  import  to  these  chil- 
dren-" 

"I'm  seventeen  1"  howled  Ruyven,  through  the  key- 
hole. "Dorothy's  not  eighteen  till  next  month,  the 
little  fool—" 

"Don  t  mind  him,"  said  Dorothy,  raising  her  voice 
far  Ruyven 's  benefit  "  A  lad  who  listens  to  his  elders 
through  a  key-hole  is  not  fit  for  serious — " 

A   heavy  assault  on  the  door  drowned  Dorothy 
voice.     She  waited  calmly  until  the  uproar  had  sub- 
sided. 

"Let  us  sit  by  the  window,"  she  said,  "and  I  will 
tell  you  h<  >w  we  Varicks  stand  betwixt  the  deep  sea  and 
the  devil/' 

"  I  wish  to  come  in!"  shouted  Ruyven,  in  a  threaten- 
ing voice.  Dorothy  laughed,  and  pointed  to  a  great 
arm-chair  of  leather  and  oak.  "  I  will  sit  there ;  place 
it  by  the  window,  cousin." 

30 


COUSINS 

I  placed  the  chair  for  her ;  she  seated  herself  with  un- 
conscious grace,  and  motioned  me  to  bring  another 
chair  for  myself. 

"Are  you  going  to  let  me  in?"  cried  Ruyven. 

"Oh,  go  to  the—"  began  Dorothy,  then  flushed  and 
glanced  at  me,  asking  pardon  in  a  low  voice. 

A  nice  parent,  Sir  Lupus,  with  every  child  in  his 
family  ready  to  swear  like  Flanders  troopers  at  the 
first  breath! 

Half  reclining  in  her  chair,  limbs  comfortably  ex- 
tended, Dorothy  crossed  her  ankles  and  clasped  her 
hands  behind  her  head,  a  picture  of  indolence  in  every 
line  and  curve,  from  satin  shoon  to  the  dull  gold  of 
her  hair,  which,  as  I  have  said,  the  powder  scarcely 
frosted. 

"To  comprehend  properly  this  war,"  she  mused, 
more  to  herself  than  to  me,  "  I  suppose  it  is  necessary 
to  understand  matters  which  I  do  not  understand; 
how  it  chanced  that  our  King  lost  his  city  of  Boston, 
and  why  he  has  not  long  since  sent  his  soldiers  here 
into  our  county  of  Tryon." 

"Too  many  rebels,  cousin,"  I  suggested,  flippantly. 
She  disregarded  me,  continuing  quietly : 

"  But  this  much,  however,  I  do  understand,  that  our 
province  of  New  York  is  the  centre  of  all  this  trouble ; 
fhat  the  men  of  Tryon  hold  the  last  pennyweight,  and 
that  the  balanced  scales  will  tip  only  when  we  patroons 
cast  in  our  fortunes,  .  .  .  either  with  our  King  or  with 
the  rebel  Congress  which  defies  him.  I  think  our 
hearts,  not  our  interests,  must  guide  us  in  this  affair, 
which  touches  our  honor." 

Such  pretty  eloquence,  thoughtful  withal,  was  not 
what  I  had  looked  for  in  this  new  cousin  of  mine — this 
free-tongued  maid,  who,  like  a  painted  peach-fruit  all 
unripe,  wears  the  gay  livery  of  maturity,  tricking  the 
eye  with  a  false  ripeness. 

31 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"I  have  thought/'  she  said,  "that  if  the  issues  of 
this  war  depend  on  us,  we  patroons  should  not  draw 
sword  too  hastily — yet  not  to  sit  like  house-cats  blink- 
it  this  world-wide  blaze,  but,  in  the  full  flood  of  ihe 
drawl  —  knowing  of  our  own  minds  on  which 
lies  the  right." 

"  Who  taught  you  this?"  I  asked,  surprised  to  over- 
bluntness. 

"Who  taught  me?  What?  To  think?"  Shelaugh- 
ed.  "Solitude  is  a  rare  spur  to  thought.  I  listen  to 
the  gentlemen  who  talk  with  father;  and  I  would 
gladly  join  and  have  my  say,  too,  but  that  they  treat 
me  like  a  fool,  and  I  have  my  questions  for  my  pains 
Yet  I  swear  I  am  dowered  with  more  sense  than  Sir 
John  Johnson,  with  his  pale  eyes  and  t  hite 

flesh,  and   his  tarnished   honor  to  dog  him  like  tlu 
shadow  of  a  damned  man  sold  to  Satan — " 

"Is  he  dishonored?" 

a  parole  broken  a  dishonor?    The  Boston  peo- 
ple took  him  and  placed  him  on  his  honor  to  live  at 
Johnson  Hall  and  do  no  meddling.     And  now  li 
fled  to  Fort  Niagara  to  raise  the  Mohawks.    Is  that 

After  a  moment  I  said :  "  But  a  moment  since  you 
told  me  that  Sir  John  comes  hi 

She  nodded.  "He  comes  and  goes  in  secret  with 
young  Walter  Butler — one  of  your  ()rm<>iul-Rutlersv 
cousin — and  old  John  Butler,  his  father,  Colonel  of  the 
Rangers,  who  boast  they  mean  to  scalp  tlu  v,h<>! 
Tryon  County  ere  this  blood-feud  is  ended.  Oh,  I  have 
heard  them  talk  and  talk,  drinking  o'  nights  in  ilu  gun- 
room, and  the  escort's  horses  stamping  at  the  porch 
with  a  man  to  each  horse,  to  hold  the  poor  brutes'  noses 
they  should  n<  1  wake  the  woods.  Coun- 

cils of  war,  they  call  them,  these  revels;  but  they  end 
ever  the  same,  with  Sir  John  borne  off  to  bed  too  drunk 

32 


COUSINS 

to  curse  the  slaves  who  shoulder  his  fat  bulk,  and  Wal- 
ter Butler,  sullen,  stunned  by  wine,  a  brooding  thing 
of  malice  carved  in  stone;  and  father  roaring  his  same 
old  songs,  and  beating  time  with  his  long  pipe  till  the 
stem  snaps,  and  he  throws  the  glowing  bowl  at  Cato — ' 

"Dorothy,  Dorothy,"  I  said,  "are  these  the  scenes 
you  find  already  too  familiar?" 

"Stale  as  last  month's  loaf  in  a  ratty  cupboard." 

"Do  they  not  offend  you?" 

"Oh,  I  am  no  prude— 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  Sir  Lupus  sanctions  it?" 

"What?  My  presence?  Oh,  I  amuse  them;  they 
dress  me  in  Ruyven's  clothes  and  have  me  to  wine — 
lacking  a  tenor  voice  for  their  songs — and  at  first,  long 
ago,  their  wine  made  me  stupid,  and  they  found  rare 
sport  in  baiting  me ;  but  now  they  tumble,  one  by  one, 
ere  the  wine's  fire  touches  my  face,  and  father  swears 
there  is  no  man  in  County  Tryon  can  keep  our  com- 
pany o'  nights  and  show  a  steady  pair  of  legs  like  mine 
to  bear  him  bedwards." 

After  a  moment's  silence  I  said:  "Are  these  your 
Northern  customs?" 

"They  are  ours  —  and  the  others  of  our  kind.  I 
hear  the  plain  folk  of  the  country  speak  ill  of  us  for  the 
free  life  we  lead  at  home — I  mean  the  Palatines  and 
the  canting  Dutch,  not  our  tenants,  though  wiiat  even 
they  may  think  of  the  manor  house  and  of  us  I  can 
only  suspect,  for  they  are  all  rebels  at  heart,  Sir  John 
says,  and  wear  blue  noses  at  the  first  run  o'  king's 
cider." 

She  gave  a  reckless  laugh  and  crossed  her  knees, 
looking  at  me  under  half-veiled  lids,  smooth  and  pure 
as  a  child's. 

"Food  for  the  devil,  they  dub  us   in    the  Palatine 
church,"  she  added,  yawning,  till  I  could  see  all  her 
small,  white  teeth  set  in  rose. 
*  33 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

A  nice  nest  of  kinsmen  had  I  uncovered  in  this  hard, 
gray  Northern  forest !  The  Lord  knows,  we  of  the  South 
do  little  jK-nance  for  the  pleasures  a  free  life  brings  us 
under  the  Southern  stars,  yet  such  license  as  this  is 
not  to  our  taste,  and  I  think  a  man  a  fool  to  teach  his 
children  to  review  with  hardened  eyes  home  scenes 
\-d  to  a  tavern. 

Yet  I  was  a  guest,  having  accepted  shelter  and  eat- 
en salt;  and  I  might  not  say  my  mind,  even  claim 
kinsman's  privilege  to  rebuke  what  seemed  to  me  to 
touch  the  family  honor. 

Staring  through  the  unwashed  window-pane,  mood- 
ily brooding  on  what  I  had  learned,  I  followed  impa- 
tiently the  flight  of  those  small,  gray  swallows  of  the 
North,  colorless  as  shadows,  \\hHm::  in  spirals  above 
the  cold  chimneys,  to  tumble  in  like  flakes  of  gray  soot 
only  to  drift  out  again,  wind  -  blown,  aimless,  irra- 
enseless  things.    And  again  that  liatred  seized 
for  all  this  pale  Northern  \\lure  the  very 

!*  gyrated  like  moon-smitten  sprites,  and  ti 
spec  t  iv  "f  virtue  sat  amid  •  here  bloodless  fools 

roused. 

"  Are  you  homesick,  cousin?"  she  asked. 

"Ay  — ii  you  must  know  the  truthl"  I  broke  out, 
now  meaning  to  say  my  fill  and  ease  me       '  I  Ins  i. 
the  world ;  it  is  a  gray  inferno,  where  shades  rave  with- 
out reason,  where  there  is  no  color,  no  repose,  noth 
but  blank  ness  and  unreason,  and  an  air  that  stings 
all  living  life  to  spasms  of  unrest    Your  sun  is  i 
yet  has  no  balm;  your  winds  plague  the  skin 
bones  of  a  man;  the  forests  are  unfriendly ;  the  \vaters 
all  hurry  as  though  bewitched!    Brooks  are  cold  . 
tasteless  as  the  fog ;  the  unsalted,  spiceless  air  clogs  the 
throat  and  whips  the  nerves  till  the  very  soul  in  the 
body  strains,  fluttering  to  be  free!    How  can  decent 
folk  abide  here?" 

34 


COUSINS 

I  hesitated,  then  broke  into  a  harsh  laugh,  for  my 
cousin  sat  staring  at  me,  lips  parted,  like  a  fair  shape 
struck  into  marble  by  a  breath  of  magic. 

"  Pardon,"  I  said.  "  Here  am  I,  kindly  invited  to  the 
council  of  a  family  whose  interests  lie  scattered  through 
estates  from  the  West  Indies  to  the  Canadas,  and  I 
requite  your  hospitality  by  a  rudeness  I  had  not  be- 
lieved was  in  me." 

I  asked  her  pardon  again  for  the  petty  outburst  of 
an  untravelled  youngster  whose  first  bath  in  this 
Northern  air -ocean  had  chilled  his  senses  and  his 
courtesy. 

"There  is  a  land,"  I  said,  "where  lately  the  gray 
bastions  of  St.  Augustine  reflected  the  gold  and  red 
of  Spanish  banners,  and  the  blue  sea  mirrors  a  bluer 
sky.  We  Ormonds  came  there  from  the  Western  Indies, 
then  drifted  south,  skirting  the  Mutanzas  to  the  sea 
islands  on  the  Halifax,  where  I  was  born,  an  English- 
man on  Spanish  soil,  and  have  lived  there,  knowing  no 
land  but  that  of  Florida,  treading  no  city  streets  save 
those  walled  lanes  of  ancient  Augustine.  All  this  vast 
North  is  new  to  me,  Dorothy;  and,  like  our  swamp- 
haunting  Seminoles,  my  rustic's  instinct  finds  hostil- 
ity in  what  is  new  and  strange,  and  I  forget  my 
breeding  in  this  gray  maze  which  half  confuses,  half 
alarms  me." 

"I  am  not  offended,"  she  said,  smiling,  "only  I 
wonder  what  you  find  distasteful  here.  Is  it  the  soli- 
tude?" 

"No,  for  we  also  have  that." 

"Is  it  us?" 

"  Not  you,  Dorothy,  nor  yet  Ruyven,  nor  the  others. 
Forget  what  I  said.  As  the  Spaniards  have  it,  '  Only 
a  fool  goes  travelling/  and  I'm  not  too  notorious  for 
my  wisdom,  even  in  Augustine.  If  it  be  the  custom  of 
the  people  here  to  go  mad,  I'll  not  sit  in  a  corner  croak 

35 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

incr,  ' Repent  and  be  wise!'  If  the  Varicks  and  the 
Butlers  set  the  pace,  I  promise  you  to  keep  the  quarry, 
Mistress  Folly,  in  view  —  ]x»rhaps  outfoot  you  all  to 
Bedlam  1  .  .  .  But,  cousin,  if  }*ou,  too,  run  this  un- 
coupled race  with  the  pack,  I  mean  to  pace  you,  r 
and  neck,  like  a  keen  whip,  ready  to  turn  and  lash  the 
first  who  interferes  with  you." 

"With  me?"  she  repeated,  smiling.  "Am  I  a 
youngster  to  be  coddled  and  protected?  You  have 
not  seen  our  hunting.  /  lead,  my  friend;  you  fol- 
io* 

She  unclasped  her  arms,  which  till  now  had  held 
her  bright  head  cradled,  and  sat  up,  hands  on  her 
knees,  grave  as  an  Egyptian  goddess  guarding 
tombs, 

1  wager  I  can  outrun  tshoot  you,  out- 

•i,  throw  you  at  wrestle,  cast  the  knit 
truer  than  i,  catch  more  fish  than  you — and 

\ys  ones  at  thai 

i  an  impatient  gesture,  peculiarly  graceful,  like 
the  half-salute  of  a  friendly  swordsman  ere  you  draw 
and  stand  on  guard: 

*  Read  the  forest  with  me.    I  can  outread  you,  sign 
for  sign,  track  for  track,  trail  in  and  trail  out!     Thf 
forest  is  to  me  Te-ka-on-do-duk  [the  place  with  a 
sign -post].     And  when  the  confederacy  speaks  with 
five  tongues,  and  every  tongue  split  into  five  forked 
dialects,  I  make  no  answer  in  finger-signs,  as  needs 
must  you,  my  cousin  of  the  Se-a-wan-ha-ka  [the  land 
)f  shells].    We  speak  to  the  Iroquois  with  our  lips,  we 
People  of  the  Morning.    Our  hands  are  for  our  rifles  I 
Iliro[Ihavespoke: 

She  laughed,  challenging  me  with  eye  and  lip. 

*  And  if  you  defy  me  to  a  bout  with  bowl  or  bottle 
I  will  not  turn  coward,  neah-wen-ha  [I  thank  you]!  but 
I  will  drink  with  you  and  let  my  father  judge  whose 

Jfi 


COUSINS 

legs  best  carry  him  to  bed!  Koue!  Answer  me,  my 
cousin,  Tahoontowhe  [the  night  hawk].'* 

We  were  laughing  now,  yet  I  knew  she  had  spoken 
seriously,  and  to  plague  her  I  said:  "You  boast  like 
a  Seminole  chanting  the  war-song." 

"I  dare  you  to  cast  the  hatchet  1"  she  cried,  redden- 
ing, 

"Dare  me  to  a  trial  less  rude,"  I  protested,  laugh- 
ing the  louder. 

"No,  no!  Come!"  she  said,  impatient,  unbolting  the 
heavy  door;  and,  willy-nilly,  I  followed,  meeting  the 
pack  all  sulking  on  the  stairs,  who  rose  to  seize  me  as 
1  came  upon  them. 

"Let  him  alone!"  cried  Dorothy;  "he  says  he  can 
outcast  me  with  the  war -hatchet!  Where  is  my 
hatchet?  Sammy!  Ruyven!  find  hatchets  and  conic 
to  the  painted  post." 

"Sport!"  cried  Harry,  leaping  down- stairs  before 
us.  "Cecile,  get  your  hatchet — get  mine,  too!  Come 
on,  Cousin  Ormond,  111  guide  you;  it's  the  painted 
post  by  the  spring  —  and  hark,  Cousin  George,  if 
you  beat  her  I'll  give  you  my  silvered  powder- 
horn!" 

Cecile  and  Sammy  hastened  up,  bearing  in  their  arms 
the  slim  war-hatchets,  cased  in  holsters  of  bright-bead- 
ed hide,  and  we  took  our  weapons  and  started,  piloted 
by  Harry  through  the  door,  and  across  the  shady,  un- 
kempt lawn  to  the  stockade  gate. 

Dorothy  and  1  walked  side  by  side,  like  two  cham- 
pions in  amiable  confab  before  a  friendly  battle,  in- 
timately aloof  from  the  gaping  crowd  which  follows 
on  the  flanks  of  all  true  greatness. 

Out  across  the  deep -green  meadow  we  marched, 
the  others  trailing  on  either  side  with  eager  advice  to 
me,  or  chattering  of  contests  past,  when  Walter  Butler 
and  Brant — he  who  is  now  war-chief  of  the  loyal  Mo- 

37 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

hawks— cast  hatchets  for  a  silver  girdle,  which  Bntnt 
wears  still;  and  the  patroon,  and  Sir  John.  ;uul  all 
the  great  folk  from  Guy  Park  were  here  a-beitm-  mi 
the  Mohawk,  which,  they  say,  so  angered  Walter 
Butler  that  he  lost  the  contest  And  that  day  dated 
the  silent  enmity  between  Brant  and  Butler,  which 
never  healed 

This  I  gathered  amid  all  their  chit-chat  while  we 
stood  under  the  willows  near  the  spring,  watching 
Ruyven  pace  the  disk*  n  the  post  back  across 

the  greensward  towards  us. 

Then,  making  his  heel-mark  in  the  grass,  he  took 
a  green  willow  wand  and  set  it,  all  feathered,  in  the 
turf 

"Is  it  fair  for  Dorothy  to  cast  her  own  hatch 
asked  Harry. 

ve  me  Ruyven 's,"  she  said,  half  vexed.    A 
that  touched  her  sense  of  fairness  sent  a  quick  flame 
iger  to  her  cheeks  which  I  admired. 

"Keep  your  own  hatchet,  cousin,"  I  said;  " 
may  have  need  of  it " 

"Give  me  Ruyven 's  hatchet/'  she  repeated,  with  a 
stamp  of  her  foot  which  Ruyven  hastened  to  re- 
spect Then  she  turned  to  me,  pink  with  defiance : 

"It  is  always  a  stranger's  honor/'  she  said;  so  I 
advanced,  drawing  my  lieht,  keen  wcajxm  from  its 
beaded  sheath,  which  I  had  belted  round  me;  and 
Ruyven  took  station  by  the  post,  ten  paces  to  the 
right 

The  post  was  painted  scarlet,  rinered  w^  white 
above;  below,  in  outline,  the  form  of  a  man — an  Ind- 
ian— with  folded  arms,  also  drawn  in  white  paint 
The  play  was  simple ;  the  hatch  imbed  its  blade 

close  to  the  outlined  shape,  yet  not  "  wound  "  or  "  draw 
blood." 

*  Brant  at  first  refused  to  cast  against  that  figure  " 

38 


COUSINS 

said  Harry,  laughing.     "He  consented  only  because 
the  figure,  though  Indian,  was  painted  white." 

I  scarce  heard  him  as  I  stood  measuring  with  my  eyes 
the  distance.  Then,  taking  one  step  forward  to  the 
willow  wand,  I  hurled  the  hatchet,  and  it  landed  quiv- 
ering in  the  shoulder  of  the  outlined  figure  on  the  post. 

"A  wound!"  cried  Cecile;  and,  mortified,  I  stepped 
back,  biting  my  lip,  while  Harry  notched  one  point 
against  me  on  the  willow  wand,  and  Dorothy,  light- 
ening her  girdle,  whipped  out  her  i  right  war-axe  and 
stepped  forward.  Nor  did  she  even  pause  to  scan  the 
post;  her  arm  shot  up,  the  keen  axe-blade  glittered 
and  flew,  sparkling  and  whirling,  biting  into  the  post, 
chuck!  handle  a-quiver.  And  you  could  not  have 
laid  a  June  willow-leaf  betwixt  the  Indian's  head  and 
the  hatchet's  blade. 

She  turned  to  me,  lips  parted  in  a  tormenting  smile, 
and  I  praised  the  cast  and  took  my  hatchet  from  Ruy- 
ven  to  try  once  more.  Yet  again  I  broke  skin  on  the 
thigh  of  the  pictured  captive;  and  again  the  glistening 
axe  left  Dorothy's  hand,  whirring  to  a  safe  score,  a 
grass-stem's  width  from  the  Indian's  head. 

I  understood  that  I  had  met  my  master,  yet  for  the 
third  time  strove;  and  my  axe  whistled  true,  standing 
point-bedded  a  finger's  breadth  from  the  cheek. 

"Can  you  mend  that,  Dorothy?"  I  asked,  politely. 

She  stood  smiling,  silent,  hatchet  poised,  then 
nodded,  launching  the  axe.  Crack!  came  the  handles 
of  the  two  hatchets,  and  rattled  together.  But  the 
blade  of  her  hatchet  divided  the  space  betwixt  my 
blade  and  the  painted  face,  nor  touched  the  outline  by 
a  fair  hair's  breadth. 

Astonishment  was  in  my  face,  not  chagrin,  but  she 
misread  me,  for  the  triumph  died  out  in  her  eyes,  and, 
"Oh!"  she  said:  "I  did  not  mean  to  win — truly  I  did 
not."  offering  her  hands  in  friendly  amend. 

39 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

But  at  my  quick  laugh  she  brightened,  still  hold. 
inn:  my  hands,  regarding  me  with  curious  eyes,  brill- 
iant as  amethysts. 

"I  waa  afraid  I  had  hurt  your  pride — before  these 
silly  children — "  she  began. 

"Children!"  shouted  Ruyveru  "I  bet  you  ten  shil- 
lings he  can  outcast  y.  u  yell" 

"Done!"  she  flashed,  then,  all  in  a  breath,  smiled 
adorably  and  shcol  ad.  "No,  I'll  not  bet.  1  L 

could  win  if  he  »  We  understand  each  other,  my 

cousin  Ormond  and  I,"  and  gave  my  kinds  a   i 
friendly  shake  with  both  of  hers,  then  dropped  them 
to  still  Ruyven's  clamor  for  a  wager. 

"  You  little  beast!"  she  said,  fiercely;  "is  it  cour- 
teous to  pit  your  guests  like  game-cocks  for  your 
pleasure?" 

''You  did  it  yourself!"  retorted  Ruyven,  indignant- 
ly—"and  entered  the  pit  yourself." 

r  a  jest,  silly  I  There  were  no  bets.  Now  frown 
and  vapor  and  wag  your  finger — do!  What  do  you 
lack?  I  will  wrestle  you  if  you  wait  until  I  don  my 
buckskins.  No?  A  foot-race? — and  111  bet  you  your 
ten  shillings  on  myself!  Ten  to  five — to  three — to 
one!  No?  Then  hush  your  silly  head!" 

"Because,"  said  Rnwm,  sullenly,  coming  up  to 
me,  "she  can  outrun  me  with  her  long  legs,  she  gives 
herself  the  dev  i  airs  and  graces.  Tluiv's  no 

livinir  with  her,  I  tell  you.     I  wish  I  could  go  to  the 
war." 

"You  11  have  to  go  when  father  declares  him 
observed  Dorothy,  quietly  polishing  her  hatchet  on 

heath. 

"But  he  won't  declare  for  King  or  Congress,"  re- 
torted the  boy. 

"  Wait  till  they  start  to  plague  us/'  murmured  Doro- 
thy. "Some  fine  July  day  cows  will  be  missed,  or  a 

40 


COUSINS 

barn  burned,  or  a  shepherd  found  scalped.    Then  you'll 
see  which  way  the  coin  spins  1" 

"Which  way  will  it  spin?"  demanded  Ruyven,  in- 
credulous yet  eager. 

"  Ask  that  squirrel  yonder/'  she  said,  briefly. 

"Thanks;   I've  asked   enough  of   chatterers/'    he 
snapped  out,  and  came  to  the  tree  where  we  were  sit- 
ting in  the  shadow  on  the  cool,  thick  carpet  of  the  grass 
—such  grass  as  I  had  never  seen  in  that  fair  South 
land  which  I  loved. 

The  younger  children  gathered  shyly  about  me, 
their  active  tongues  suddenly  silent,  as  though,  all  at 
once,  they  had  taken  a  sudden  alarm  to  find  me 
there. 

The  reaction  of  fatigue  was  settling  over  me — for 
my  journey  had  been  a  long  one  that  day — and  I  leaned 
my  back  against  the  tree  and  yawned,  raising  my 
hand  to  hide  it 

"I  wonder,"  I  said,  "whether  anybody  here  knows 
if  my  boxes  and  servant  have  arrived  from  Phila- 
delphia/' 

"  Your  boxes  are  in  the  hallway  by  your  bed-cham- 
ber/' said  Dorothy.  "Your  servant  went  to  Johns- 
town for  news  of  you — let  me  see — I  think  it  was  Sat- 
urday— " 

"Friday/*  said  Ruyven,  looking  up  from  the  wil- 
low wand  which  he  was  peeling. 

"He  never  came  back/'  observed  Dorothy.  "Some 
believe  he  ran  away  to  Albany,  some  think  the  Bos- 
ton people  caught  him  and  impressed  him  to  work  on 
the  fort  at  Stanwix." 

I  felt  my  face  growing  hot 

"I  should  like  to  know,"  said  I,  "who  has  dared  to 
interfere  with  my  servant" 

"So  should  I,"  said  Ruyven,  stoutly.  "I'd  knock 
his  head  off/'  The  others  stared.  Dorothy,  picking 

M 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

a  meadow-flower  to  pieces,  smiled  quietly,  but  did  noi 
look  u 

"What  do  you  think  has  happened  to  my  black?' 
I  asked,  watching  her. 

"  I  think  Walter  Butler's  men  caught  him  and  packed 
him  off  to  Fort  Niagara/'  she  said. 

"  Why  do  you  believe  that?"  I  asked,  angrily. 

"Because  Mr.  Butler  came  here  looking  for  boat- 
men; and  I  know  he  tried  to  bribe  Cato  to  go.  Cato 
told  me."  She  turned  sharply  to  the  olh  But 

mind  you  say  nothing  to  Sir  Lupus  of  this  until  I  choose 
aD  himl" 

'*  Have  you  proof  that  Mr.  Butler  was  concerned  in 
the  disappearance  of  my  servant?"  I  asked,  with  an 
unpleasant  softness  in  my  voice. 

"No  proof/'  replied  Dorothy,  also  very  softly. 

"  Then  I  may  not  even  question  him,"  I  saicL 

"No,  you  can  do  nothing — n< 

I  thought  a  moment,  frowning,  then  glanced  up  to 
them  all  intently  uat,  lung  me. 

"I  should  like/'  said  I,  "to  have  a  tub  of  clean  water 
and  fresh  clothing,  and  to  sleep  for  ,m  hour  ere  I  dress 
to  dine  with  Sir  Lupus.  Hut.  lirM,  I  should  like  to  see 
my  mare,  that  she  is  well  bedded  and — " 

"I'll  see  to  1:  <l  Dorotli  LJ  to  her  feet. 

"  Ruyven,  do  you  tell  Cato  to  wait  on  Captain  Ormoi 
And  to  Harry  and  Cecile :  "  Bowl  on  the  lawn  if 
mean  to  bowl, ;;  in  the  hallway,  while  our  coi 

is  sleepinc."  And  to  Benny:  "If  you  tumble  or  fall 
into  any  foolishness,  see  that  you  squall  no  louder 
than  a  kitten  mewing.  Our  cousin  means  to  sleep  for 
a  whole  hour." 

As  I  rose,  nodding  to  them  gravely,  all  their  shy 
deference  seemed  to  return;  they  were  no  longer  a 
careless,  chattering  band,  crowding  at  my  elbows  to 
pluck  ray  sleeves  with,  "Oh,  Cousin  Ormond"  this, 

42 


COUSINS 

and  "Listen,  cousin/'  that;  but  they  stood  in  a  covey, 
close  together,  a  trifle  awed  at  ray  height,  I  suppose; 
and  Ruyven  and  Dorothy  conducted  me  with  a  new 
ceremony,  each  to  outvie  the  other  in  politeness  of 
language  and  deportment,  calling  to  my  notice  de- 
tails of  the  scenery  in  stilted  phrases  which  nigh  con- 
vulsed me,  so  that  I  could  scarce  control  the  set  gravity 
of  my  features. 

At  the  house  door  they  parted  company  with  me, 
all  save  Ruyven  and  Dorothy.  The  one  marched  off 
to  summon  Cato;  the  other  stood  silent,  her  head  a 
little  on  one  side,  contemplating  a  spot  of  sunlight  on 
the  dusty  floor. 

"About  young  Walter  Butler,"  she  began,  absently; 
"  be  not  too  short  and  sharp  with  him,  cousin." 

*'  I  hope  I  shall  have  no  reason  to  be  too  blunt  with 
my  own  kin,"  I  said. 

"You  may  have  reason — "  She  hesitated,  then, 
with  a  pretty  confidence  in  her  eyes,  "For  my  sake 
please  to  pass  provocation  unnoticed.  None  will 
doubt  your  courage  if  you  overlook  and  refuse  to  be 
affronted." 

"  I  cannot  pass  an  affront,"  I  said,  bluntly.  "  What 
do  you  mean?  Who  is  this  quarrelsome  Mr.  But- 
ler?" 

"An  Ormond-Butler,"  she  said,  earnestly;  "but — 
but  he  has  had  trouble — a  terrible  disappointment  in 
love,  they  say.  He  is  morose  at  times — a  sullen,  sus- 
picious man,  one  of  those  who  are  ever  seeking  for 
offence  where  none  is  dreamed  of;  a  man  quick  to  give 
umbrage,  quicker  to  resent  a  fancied  slight — a  re- 
morseless eye  that  fixes  you  with  the  passionless  men- 
ace of  a  hawk's  eye,  dreamily  marking  you  for  a  vic- 
tim. He  is  cruel  to  his  servants,  cruel  to  his  animals, 
terrible  in  his  hatred  of  these  Boston  people.  Nobody 
knows  why  they  ridiculed  him;  but  they  did.  That 

43 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

adds  to  the  fuel  which  feeds  the  flame  in  him— that 
and  the  brooding  on  his  own  grievances — " 

She  moved  nearer  to  me  and  laid  her  hand  on  ir.y 
sleeve.  "  Cousin,  the  man  is  mad ;  I  ask  you  to  reiiK  niU >r 
that  in  a  moment  of  just  provocation.  It  would  grieve 
me  if  he  were  your  enemy — I  should  not  sleep  for  think- 
ing." 

" Dorothy/'  I  said,  smiling,  "I  use  some  weapons 
better  than  I  do  the  war-axe.  Are  you  afraid  f« 

She  looked  at  me  seri<  In  that  little 

which  I  know  there  is  much  that  terrifies  men,  yii   I 
can  say,  without  boast i UK.  Dot,  in  my  world, 

one  living  creature  or  o  h  or  spirit  that  I  dread 

—no,  not  even  Catrine  Montour!" 

"And  who  is  Catrine  Montour?"  I  asked,  amused 
at  her  earnestness. 

she  could  reply,  Ruyven  called  from  i 
that  Cato  had  my  tub  of  water  all  prepared,  and  she 
walked  awaj,  nodding  a  brief  adieu,  pausing  at  the 
door  to  give  me  one  sweet,  swift  smile  of  friendly  in- 


IV 
SIR  LUPUS 

I  HAD  bathed  and  slept,  and  waked  once  more  to 
the  deep,  resonant  notes  of  a  conch-shell  blowing ; 
and  I  still  lay  abed,  blinking  at  the  sunset  through 
the  soiled  panes  of  my  western  window,  when  Cato 
scraped  at  the  door  to  enter,  bearing  my  sea -boxes 
one  by  one. 

Reaching  behind  me,  I  drew  the  keys  from  under  my 
pillow  and  tossed  them  to  the  solemn  black,  lying  still 
once  more  to  watch  him  unlock  my  boxes  and  lay  out 
my  clothes  and  linen  to  the  air. 

"Company  to  sup,  suh;  geinmcn  from  de  No'th  an* 
Guy  Pahk,  suh,"  he  hinted,  rolling  his  eyes  at  me  and 
holding  up  my  best  wristbands,  made  of  my  mother's 
lace. 

"  I  shall  dress  soberly,  Cato/'  said  I,  yawning.  "  Give 
me  a  narrow  queue-ribbon,  too." 

The  old  man  mumbled  and  muttered,  fussing  about 
among  the  boxes  until  he  found  a  full  suit  of  silver- 
gray,  silken  stockings,  and  hound's-tongue  shoes  to 
match. 

"  Dishyere  clothes  sho'  is  sober,"  he  reflected  aloud. 
"One  li'l  gole  vine  a-crawlin'  on  de  cuffs,  nuvver  li'l 
gole  vine  a-creepin'  up  de  wes'coat,  gole  buckles  on  de 
houn'-tongue —  Wharde  hat?  Hat  done  loose  hisse'f! 
Here  de  hat!  Gole  lace  on  de  hat — Cap'in  Ormond 
sho'  is  quality  gemm'n.  Ef  he  ain't,  how  come 
dishy  ere  gole  lace  on  de  hat?" 

45 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"Come,  Cato,"  I  remonstrated,  "am  I  dressing  fora 
ball  at  Augustine,  that  you  stand  there  pulling  ; 
finery  about  to  choose  and  pick?  I  tell  you  to  give  ;m 
a  sober  suit!"  I  snatched  a  flowered  robe  from  the 
bed's  foot-board,  pulled  it  about  me,  and  stepped  to 
the  floor. 

Cato  brought  a  chair  and  bowl,  and,  when  I  had 
washed  once  more  I  seated  myself  while  the  old  man 
shook  out  my  hair,  dusted  it  to  n .  i  hen 

it  11  to  combing  and  brushing.  My  hair,  with  its  ob- 
stinate inclination  to  curl,  needed  neiiiuT  iron  nor 
pomade;  so,  silvering  it  with  my  best  French  j 
der,  he  tied  the  short  queue  with  a  black  ribbon  and 
ted  my  shoulders,  critically  considering  me  the 
while. 

"  A  plain  shirt,"  I  said,  briefly. 

He  brought  a  frilled  one. 

"  I  want  a  plain  shirt,"  I  insisted 

"  Dishyere  sho't  am  des  de  plaincs'  an*  de— " 

"  You  villain,  don't  I  know  what  I  want7" 

"No,  suh!" 

And,  upon  my  honor,  I  could  not  get  that  black 
mule  to  find  me  the  shirt  that  I  wished  to  wear.  More 
than  that,  he  utterly  refused  to  permit  me  to  dress  in 
a  certain  suit  of  mouse-color  without  lace,  but  actually 
bundled  me  into  the  silver-gray,  talking  volubly  all 
the  while;  and  I,  half  laughing  an  v  vexed,  al- 

most minded  to  go  burrowing  myself  among  my  boxes 
and  risk  peppering  silk  and  vt  h  hair-powder. 

But  he  dressed  me  as  it  suited  him,  pat  silk 

shoes  into  shape,  smoothing  coat-skirt  and  flowered 
vest-flap,  shaking  out  the  lace  on  stock  and  wrist  with 
all  the  delicacy  and  cunning  of  a  lady's-maid. 

"Idiot!"  said  I,  "am  I  tricked  out  to  please  you?" 

"  You  she'  is,  Cap'in  On  ' ih,"  he  said,  the 

faint  approach  to  a  grin  that  I  had  seen  wrinkling  his 

46 


SIR   LUPUS 

aged  face.  And  with  that  he  hung  my  small-sword, 
whisked  the  powder  from  my  shoulders  with  a  bit  of 
cambric,  chose  a  laced  handkerchief  for  me,  and,  ere  I 
could  remonstrate,  passed  a  tiny  jewelled  pin  into  my 
powdered  hair,  where  it  sparkled  like  a  frost  crystal. 

"I'm  no  macaroni!"  I  said, angrily;  "take  it  away!" 

"Cap'in  Ormond,  suh,  you  sho'  is  de  fines'  young 
gemm'n  in  de  province,  suh,"  he  pleaded.  "Dess 
regahd  yo'se'f,  suh,  in  dishyere  lookum-glass.  What 
I  done  tell  you?  Look  foh  yo'se'f,  suh!  Cap'in  But- 
ler gwine  see  how  de  quality  gemm'n  fixes  up!  Suh 
John  Johnsing  he  gwine  see!  Dat  ole  Kunnel  Butler 
he  gwine  see,  too!  Heah  yo'  is,  suh,  dess  a-bloomin' 
L,!.  -Lc  pink-an '-silver  ghos'  flower  wif  de  gole  heart." 

"Cato,"  I  asked,  curiously,  "why  do  you  take  pride 
in  tricking  out  a  stranger  to  dazzle  your  own  people?" 

The  old  man  stood  silent  a  moment,  then  looked  up 
with  the  mild  eyes  of  an  aged  hound  long  privileged 
in  honorable  retirement. 

"Is  you  sho'  a  Ormond,  suh?" 

"Yes,  Cato." 

"Might  you  come  f'om  de  Spanish  grants,  suh, 
'long  de  Halifax?" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  but  we  are  English  now.  How  did  you 
know  I  came  from  the  Halifax?" 

"I  knowed  it,  suh;  I  knowed  h'it  muss  be  dat-a- 
way!" 

"  How  do  you  know  it,  Cato?" 

"  I  spec'  you  favor  yo'  pap,  suh,  de  ole  Kunnel — " 

"My  father!" 

"  Mah  ole  marster,  suh ;  I  was  raised  long  Matanzas, 
suh.  Spanish  man  done  cotch  me  on  de  Tomoka  an' 
ship  me  to  Quebec.  Ole  Suh  William  Johnsing,  he 
done  buy  me;  Suh  John,  he  done  sell  me;  Mars  Varick, 
he  buy  me;  an'  hyah  ah  is,  suh — heart  dess  daid  foh 
de  Halifax  san's." 

47 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

He  bent  his  withered  head  and  laid  his  face  on  my 
hands,  but  no  tear  fell. 

After  a  moment  he  straightened,  snuffled,  and  smiled, 
opening  his  lips  with  a  dry  clu 

"  H'it's  dat-a-way,  suh.  Ole  Cato  dess  'bleged  to  fix 
up  de  young  marster.  Pride  o'  famhly,  suh.  What 
lit  you  be  desirin'  now,  Mars'  Onnond?  One  li'l 
drap  o'  musk  on  yoh  hanker?  Lawd  save  us,  but 
you  sho'  is  gallus  dishyere  dayl  Spec'  Miss  Dorry 
.:ie  blink  de  vi'lets  in  her  eyes.  Yaas,  suh.  Miss 
Dorry  am  de  only  one,  suh;  de  onliest  Ormond  in 
dishyere  fambly.  Seem  mos'  lak  she  done  throw  back 
to  our  folk,  suh.  Miss  Dorry  ain'  no  Varick;  .A' 
Dorry  all  Onnond,  suh,  dess  lak  you  an'  me!  Yaas, 
suh,  h'its  dat-a-way;  h'it  sho'  is,  Mars'  Ormond." 

I  drew  a  deep,  quivering  breath.     li<>me  seemed  so 
1  the  old  slave  would  never  live  to  see  it.     I  felt 
as  though  this  steel -cold  North  held  me,  too,  like  a 
trap — never  to  unclose. 

"Cato,"  I  said,  abruptly,  "let  us  go  home." 

He  understood;  a  gleam  of  purest  joy  flickered  in 
i  yes,  then  died  out,  quenched  in  swelling  tears. 

1  Ie  wept  awhile,  standing  there  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  smearing  the  tears  away  with  the  flapping  sleeves 
of  his  tarnished  livery,  while,  like  a  committed  \ 
I  paced  the  walls,  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro.  heart  aching 
for  escape. 

The  litrht  in  the  west  deepened  above  the  forests; 
a  IOIILT.  ult'wini;  erack  opened  between  two  thunderous 
clouds,  like  a  hint  of  hidden  hell,  firing  the  whole  sk\ . 
1  in  the  blaze  the  crows  winged,  two  and  two,  like 
hes  flying  home  to  the  infernal  pit,  now  all  ablaze 
and  kindling  coal  on  coal  along  the  dark  sky's  som- 
bre brink. 

Then  the  red  bars  faded  on  my  wall  to  pink,  to  ashes; 
a  fleck  of  rosy  cloud   in   mid-zenith  glimmered  and 

48 


SIR    LUPUS 

went  out,  and  the  round  edges  of  the  world  were  cur- 
tained  with  the  night. 

Behind  me,  Cato  struck  flint  and  lighted  two  tall 
candles ;  outside  the  lawn,  near  the  stockade,  a  stable- 
lad  set  a  conch-horn  to  his  lips,  blowing  a  deep,  melodi- 
ous cattle-call,  and  far  away  I  heard  them  coming — 
tin,  ton!  tin,  ton!  tinkle! — through  the  woods,  slowly, 
slowly,  till  in  the  freshening  dusk  I  smelled  their  milk 
and  heard  them  lowing  at  the  unseen  pasture-bars. 

I  turned  sharply;  the  candle-light  dazzled  me.  As 
I  passed  Cato,  the  old  man  bowed  till  his  coat-cuffs 
hung  covering  his  dusky,  wrinkled  fingers. 

"When  we  go,  we  go  together,  Cato,"  I  said,  husk- 
ily, and  so  passed  on  through  the  brightly  lighted  hall- 
way and  down  the  stairs. 

Candle-light  glimmered  on  the  dark  pictures,  the 
rusted  circles  of  arms,  the  stags'  heads  with  their  dusty 
eyes.  A  servant  in  yellow  livery,  lounging  by  tin 
door,  rose  from  the  settle  as  I  appeared  and  threw  open 
the  door  on  the  left,  announcing,  "Cap'm  Ormond!" 
in  a  slovenly  fashion  which  merited  a  rebuke  from 
somebody. 

The  room  into  which  the  yokel  ushered  me  appeared 
to  be  a  library,  low  of  ceiling,  misty  with  sour  pipe 
smoke,  which  curled  and  floated  level,  wavering  as 
the  door  closed  behind  me. 

Through  the  fog,  which  nigh  choked  me  with  its 
staleness,  I  perceived  a  bulky  gentleman  seated  at 
ease,  sucking  a  long  clay  pipe,  his  bulging  legs  cocked 
up  on  a  card-table,  his  little,  inflamed  eyes  twinkling 
red  in  the  candle-light. 

"  Captain  Ormond  ?"  he  cried.  "  Captain  be  damned  ; 
you're  my  cousin,  George  Ormond,  or  I'm  the  fattest 
liar  south  of  Montreal!  Who  the  devil  put  'em  up  to 
captaining  you  —  eh?  Was  it  that  minx  Dorothy? 
Dammy,  I  took  it  that  the  old  Colonel  had  come  to 
4  "  49 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

irue  me  from  his  grave — your  father,  sir!     And  a 

cd  line  fellow,  if  he  was  second  cousin  to  a  Varick, 

which  he  could  not  help,  not  he! — though  I've  heard 

him  damn  his  luck  to  my  very  face,  sir!     Yes,  sir, 

lor  my  very  nose!" 

.11  into  a  fit  of  fat  coughing,  and  seized  a  glass 
of  spirits-and- water  which  stood  on  the  table  near  his 
feet.  The  draught  allayed  his  spasm;  lu  wiped  his 
broad,  purple  face,  chuckled,  tossed  off  the  last  of  the 
liquor  with  a  smack,  and  held  out  a  mottled,  fat  hand, 
bare  of  wrist-lace.  "  Here's  my  heart  with  it,  George!" 
IK  cried.  "  I'd  stand  up  to  greet  you,  but 
minutes  for  me  to  find  these  feet  o'  mine,  so  I'll  not 
keep  you  waiting.  There's  a  chair;  till  it  with  th.-u 
pretty  body  of  yours ;  cock  up  your  feet — here's  a  pipe 
— here's  snuff — here's  the  best  rum  north  o'  Norf 
which  that  ass  Dunmore  laid  in  ashes  to  spite  those 
who  kicked  him  on 

He  squeezed  ray  hand  affectionately.     "  Pn 
Dammy,  but  you'll  break  a  heart  or  two,  you  roj. 
Oh.  you  are  your  father  all  over  again;  it's  that  v 
with  you  Ormonds — all  alike,  and  handsome  as  that 
young  devil  Lucifer;   too  proud  to  be  proud  o'  your 
dukes  and  admirals,  and  a  thousand  years  of  wait 
on  ng.     As  lads  together  your  father  used  to 

take  me  by  the  ear  and  cufT  me,  crying, '  Beast!  be 

i  eat  and  drink  too  much!     An  Ormond 
lies  not  in  his  belly!'     Ai  ked  back,  fi^lr 

stoutly  for  the  crust  he  dragged  me  from.  Dammy, 
why  not?  There's  more  Dutch  Varick  than  Irish 
Ormond  in  me.  Rememlvr  that,  George,  and  we  shall 
get  on  famously  together,  you  and  I.  Forget  it,  and 
we  quarrel.  Hey!  fill  that  t  in  glass  for  a 

toa  ve  you  the  family,  George.     May  they  keep 

tight  hold  on  what  is  theirs  through  all  this  cursed 
war-folly.  Here's  to  the  patroons,  (iod  bless  'em!" 

50 


SIR    LUPUS 

Forced  by  courtesy  to  drink  ere  I  had  yet  tasted 
meat,  I  did  my  part  with  the  best  grace  I  could  muster, 
turning  the  beautiful  glass  downward,  with  a  bow  to 
my  host 

"The  same  trick  o'  grace  in  neck  and  wrist/'  he 
muttered,  thickly,  wiping  his  lips.  "  All  Ormond,  all 
Ormond,  George,  like  that  vixen  o'  mine,  Dorothy. 
Hey !  It's  not  too  often  that  good  blood  throws  back ; 
the  mongrel  shows  of tenest ;  but  that  big  chit  of  a  lass 
is  no  Varick ;  she's  Ormond  to  the  bones  of  her.  Ruy- 
ven's  a  red-head ;  there's  red  in  the  rest  o'  them,  and 
the  slow  Dutch  blood.  But  Dorothy's  eyes  are  like 
those  wild  iris -blooms  that  purple  all  our  meadows, 
and  she  has  the  Ormond  hair — that  thick,  dull  gold, 
which  that  French  Ormond,  of  King  Stephen's  time, 
was  dowered  with  by  his  Saxon  mother,  Helen. 
Eh?  You  see,  I  read  it  in  that  book  your  father  k-ft 
us.  If  I'm  no  Ormond,  I  like  to  find  out  why,  and  I 
love  to  dispute  the  Ormond  claim  which  Walter  But- 
ler makes — he  with  his  dark  face  and  hair,  and  those 
dusky,  golden  eyes  of  his,  which  turn  so  yellow  when  I 
plague  him — the  mad  wild-cat  that  he  is." 

Another  fit  of  choking  closed  his  throat,  and  again 
lu  soaked  it  open  with  his  chilled  toddy,  rattling  the 
stick  to  stir  it  well  ere  he  drained  it  at  a  single,  gob- 
bling gulp. 

A  faint  disgust  took  hold  on  me,  to  sit  there  smoth- 
ering in  the  fumes  of  pipe  and  liquor,  while  my  gross 
kinsman  guzzled  and  gabbled  and  guzzled  again. 

"George,"  he  gasped,  mopping  his  crimsoned  face, 
"I'll  tell  you  now  that  we  Varicks  and  you  Ormonds 
must  stand  out  for  neutrality  in  this  war.  The  But- 
lers mean  mischief;  they're  mad  to  go  to  fighting, 
and  that  means  our  common  ruin.  They'll  be  here 
to-night,  damn  them." 

"Sir  Lupus,"  I  ventured,  "we  are  all  kinsmen,  the 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Butlers,  the  Varicks,  and  the  Ormonds.     We  are  to 
her   here  for  self-protection  during  this  rebellion. 
I  am  sure  that  in  the  presence  of  t  non  danger 

there  can  arise  no  family  dissension." 

"Yes,  there  can!"  he  fairly  yelled.  "Here  am  I 
risking  life  and  property  to  persuade  these  Hu  tiers 
lh.it  their  ii.  s  in  strictest  neutrality.  If  Schuy- 

ler  at  Albany  knew  they  visited  me,  his  dragoons  would 
gallop  into  Varick  Manor  and  hang  me  to  my  1>. 
door!    Here  am  I,  I  say,  doing  my  best  to  keep    em 
quiet,  and  there's  Sir  John  Johnson  and  all  that  brag- 
gim  rom  Guy  Park  combating  me — nay,  would 

you  believe  their  impudence?—  striving  to  win  me  to 
arm  my  tenantry  for  this  King  of  Kngland,  who  has 
done  nothing  for  me,  save  to  make  a  knight  of  me  t  » 
curry  favor  with  the  Dutch  patroons  in  New  York 
vince  —  or  state,  as  they  call  it  now!  And  now  I 
have  you  to  count  on  for  support,  and  we'll  whistle  an- 
other jig  for  them  to-night,  I'll  warr. 

Me   seized   his   unfilled   glass,  looked   into  it,  and 
ied  it   from    him   peevishly. 

"Dammv,"  he  said,  "I'll  not  budge  for  them!  I 
have  thousands  of  acres,  hundreds  of  t  farms, 

sugar-bushes,  manufactories  for  pearl-ash,  <:nst -mills, 
saw-mills,  and  I'm  damned  if  I  draw  sword  t-ither  way! 
Am  I  a  madman,  to  risk  all  this?  Am  I  a  common 
fool,  to  chance  '.'  Do  th<  me  in 

my  dotage?  Indeed,  sir,  if  I  drew  blade,  if  I  as  much 
as  raised  a  finger,  both  sides  would  come  swarming 
all  over  us — rebels  a-looting  and  a-shooting,  Indians 
whooping  off  my  cattle,  firing  my  barns,  scalping  my 
tenants — rebels  at  heart  every  one,  and  Id  not  care 
tuppence  who  scalped  'em  but  that  they  pay  me  rent!" 

1  Ie  clinched  his  fat  fists  and  beat  the  air  angrily. 

•n  lord  of  this  manor!"  he  bawled.    "  I'm  Patroon 
Varick,  and  I'll  do  as  I  please  I" 

52 


SIR    LUPJS 

Amazed  and  mortified  at  his  gross  frankness,  I  sat 
silent,  not  knowing  what  to  say.  Interest  alone  swayed 
him ;  the  right  and  wrong  of  this  quarrel  were  nothing 
to  him ;  he  did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  pay  a  hypo- 
crite's tribute  to  principle  ere  he  turned  his  back  on  it ; 
selfishness  alone  ruled,  and  he  boasted  of  it,  waving  his 
short,  fat  arms  in  anger,  or  struggling  to  extend  them 
heavenward,  in  protest  against  these  people  who  dared 
urge  him  to  declare  himself  and  stand  or  fall  with  the 
cause  he  might  embrace. 

A  faint  disgust  stirred  my  pulse.  We  Ormonds  had 
as  much  to  lose  as  he,  but  yelled  it  not  to  the  skies, 
nor  clamored  of  gain  and  loss  in  such  unseemly  fashion, 
ignoring  higher  motive. 

"Sir  Lupus,"  I  said,  "if  we  can  remain  neutral  with 
honor,  that  surely  is  wisest.  But  can  \ 

"Remain  neutral!    Of  course  we  can!"  he  shouted. 

"Honorably?" 

"Eh?  Where's  honor  in  this  mob-rule  that  breaks 
out  in  Boston  to  spot  the  whole  land  with  a  scurvy 
eruption!  Honor?  \Vlu-rv  is  it  in  this  vile  distemper 
which  sets  old  neighbors  here  a-itching  to  cut  each 
other's  throats?  One  s<ivs,  'You're  a  Tory!  Take 
that  I '  and  slips  a  knife  into  him.  T'other  says, '  You're 
a  rebel!'  Bang!  —  and  blows  his  head  off!  Honor? 
Bah!" 

He  removed  his  wig  to  wipe  his  damp  and  shiny 
pate,  then  set  the  wig  on  askew  and  glared  at  me  out 
of  his  small,  ruddy  eyes. 

"  I'm  for  peace,"  he  said,  "  and  I  care  not  who  knows 
it.  Then,  whether  Tory  or  rebel  win  the  day,  here  am 
I,  holding  to  my  own  with  both  hands  and  caring  noth- 
ing which  rag  flies  overhead,  so  that  it  brings  peace 
and  plenty  to  honest  folk.  And,  mark  me,  then  we 
shall  live  to  see  these  plumed  and  gold-laced  glory- 
mongers  slinking  round  to  beg  their  bread  at  our  back 

53 


THE    MAID-AT-ARiMS 

doors.     Dammy,  let  'cm  bellow  nowl     Let  'em  shout 
for  war!     I'll  keep  my  mills  busy  and  my  agent  wulk- 
the  old  rent-beat.     If  they  can  fill   t!  Hies 

with  a  mess  of  :rudge  them  what  they 

can  snatch;  but  I'll  fill  mine  with  food  less  spiced,  and 
we'll  see  which  of  us  thrives  best — these  sons  of  M 
or  the  old  patroon  who  stays  at  hmiu-  and  dips  his  nose 
into  nothing  worse  than  old  Madeira!" 

i^ave  me  a  cunning  look,  pushed  his  wig  partly 
straight,  and  lay  back,  puffing  quietly  at  his  pipe. 

I  hesitated,  choosing  my  words  ere  I  spoke;  and  at 
first  he  listened  contentedly,  nodding  approval,  and 
pushing  fresh  tobacco  into  his  clay  with  a  fat  forefinger. 

I  pointed  out  that  it  was  my  desire  to  save  my 
from  ravage,  rum,  and  ultimate  confiscation  by  the 
tors;  that  for  this  reason  he  had  summoned  me,  and 
I  had  come  to  confer  with  him  and  with  other  branches 
of  our  family,  seeking  how  best  this  mit/ht  be  done. 

minded  him  that,  from  his  letters  to  me,  I  had 
acquired  a  fair  knowledge  of  the  estates  endangered ; 
od  that  Sir  John  Johnson  owned  en<>r- 
racts  in  Tryon  Coun.y  whirh  his  i^reat  father, 
Sir  i,  had  left  him  when  he  died;  that  Col. 

Claus,  <iuy  Johnson,  the  IJ  father  and  son,  and 

.  all  held  estates  of  greatest  value ;  and  that 
sc  estates  were  menaced,  now  by  Tory,  now  by 
rebel,  and  the  lords  of  these  broad  manors  were  a! 
nately  solicited  and  threatened  by  the  warring  factions 
now  so  bloodily  embroiled. 

e  Ormonds  can  comprehend  your  dismay,  your 

distress,  your  doubts,"  I   said.     "Our  indigo  grows 

i<>st  within  gunshot  of  the  British  outpost  at  New 

Smyrna ;  ot  es.  our  lemons,  our  cane,  our  cotton, 

must  *vither  at  a  blast  from  the  cannon  of  Saint  Am 

rebels  in  Georgia  threaten  us,  the  Tories  at 
Pensc*oola  warn  us,  the  Seminoles  are  gathering,  the 

54 


SIR    LUPUS 

Minorcans  are  arming,  the  blacks  in  the  Carolinas 
watch  us,  and  the  British  regiments  at  Augustine  are 
all  itching  to  ravage  and  plunder  and  drive  us  into 
the  sea  if  we  declare  not  for  the  King  who  pays 
them." 

Sir  Lupus  nodded,  winked,  and  fell  to  slicing  to- 
bacco with  a  small,  gold  knife. 

"  We're  all  Quakers  in  these  days — eh,  George?  We 
can't  fight — no,  we  really  can't  1  It's  wrong,  George, 
— oh.  very  wrong."  And  he  fell  a-chuckling,  so  that 
his  paunch  shook  like  a  jelly. 

"  I  think  you  do  not  understand  me,"  I  said. 

He  looked  up  quickly. 

"We  Ormonds  are  only  waiting  to  draw  sword." 

"  Draw  sword !"  he  cried.     "  What  d'  ye  mean?" 

"  I  mean  that,  once  convinced  our  honor  demands  it, 
we  cannot  choose  but  draw." 

"Don't  be  an  ass!"  he  shouted.  "Have  I  not  told 
you  that  there's  no  honor  in  this  bloody  squabble? 
Lord  save  the  lad,  he's  mad  as  Walter  Butler  1" 

"Sir  Lupus,"  I  said,  angrily,  "is  a  man  an  ass  to 
defend  his  own  land?" 

"He  is  when  it's  not  necessary!  Lie  snug;  nobody 
is  going  to  harm  you.  Lie  snug,  with  both  arms 
around  your  own  land." 

"I  meant  my  own  native  land,  not  the  miserable 
acres  my  slaves  plant  to  feed  and  clothe  me." 

He  glared,  twisting  his  long  pipe  till  the  stem  broke 
short 

"  Well,  which  land  do  you  mean  to  defend,  England 
or  these  colonies?"  he  asked,  staring. 

"That  is  what  I  desire  to  learn,  sir,"  I  said,  respect- 
fully. "  That  is  why  I  came  North.  With  us  in  Flor- 
ida, all  is,  so  far,  faction  and  jealousy,  selfish  intrigue 
and  prejudiced  dispute.  The  truth,  the  vital  truth,  is 
obscured;  the  right  is  hidden  in  a  petty  storm  where 

55 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

local  tyrants  fill  the  air  with  dust,  striving  each  to 
blind  the  other." 

1  leaned  forward  earnestly.  "There  must  be  i 
and  wrong  in  this  dispute;  Truth  stands  naked  some- 
where in  the  world.  It  is  for  us  to  find  her.  Why, 
mark  me,  Sir  Lupus,  men  cannot  sit  and  blink  at 
villany,  nor  look  with  indifference  on  a  struggle  to  the 
death.  One  side  is  right,  t'other  wrong.  And  we 
must  learn  how  matters  stand." 

"And  what  will  it  advance  us  to  learn  how  matters 
stand?"  he  said,  still  staring,  as  though  I  were  some 
persistent  fool  vexing  him  with  unleavened  babble 
ippose  these  rebels  are  right — and,  dammy,  but  I 
think  they  are — and  suppose  our  King's  troops  are 
roundly  trouncing  them — and  I  think  they  are,  too— 
do  you  mean  to  say  you'd  draw  sword  and  go  a-prowl- 
ing,  seeking  for  some  obliging  enemy  to  knock  you 
in  the  lu.id  or  hang  you  for  a  rebel  to  your  neighbor's 

"Something  of  that  sort,"  I  said,  good-humoredly. 

"Oh,  Don  Quixote  once  more,  eh?"  he  sneered,  too 

mad  to  raise  his  voice  to  the  more  convenient  bellow 

which  seemed  to  soothe  him  as  much  as  it  distressed 

listener.     "  \\V11,  vou've  got  a  fool's  mate  in 
George  Covert,  the  insufferable  dandy  1     And  all  you 
two  need  is  a  pair  o'  Panzas  and  a  brace  of  windmills. 
Bah!"    He  grew  angrier.     "Bah,  I  say!"    He  broke 
out    "Damnation,  sir!    Go  to  the  devil!" 
I  said,  calmly:   "Sir  Lupus,  I  hear  your  observa- 
with  patience;  I  naturally  receive  your  admoni- 
tion with  respect,  but  your  bearing  towards  me  I  re- 
sent.    Pray,  sir,  remember  that  I  am  under  your  roof 
note,  but  when  I  quit  it  I  am  free  to  call  you  to  account  " 

hat!    You'd  fight  i 

"Scarcely,  sir;  but  I  should  expect  somebody  to 
make  your  words  good." 

56 


SIR    LUPUS 

"Bah!  Who?  Ruyven?  He's  a  lad!  Dorothy  is 
the  only  one  to — "  He  broke  out  into  a  hoarse  laugh. 
"Oh,  you  Ormonds!  I  might  have  saved  myself  the 
pains.  And  now  you  want  to  flesh  your  sword,  it  mat- 
ters not  in  whom  —  Tory,  rebel,  neutral  folk,  they're 
all  one  to  you,  so  that  you  fight!  George,  don't  take 
offence;  I  naturally  swear  at  those  I  differ  with.  I 
may  love  'em  and  yet  curse  'em  like  a  sailor!  Know 
me  better,  George!  Bear  with  me;  let  me  swear  at 
you,  lad!  It's  all  I  can  do." 

He  spread  out  his  fat  hands  imploringly,  recrossing 
his  enormous  legs  on  the  card-table.  "I  can't  fight, 
George;  I  would  gladly,  but  I'm  too  fat.  Don't  grudge 
me  a  few  kindly  oaths  now  and  then.  It's  all  I  can 
do." 

I  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  laughter,  utterly  uncon- 
trollable. Sir  Lupus  observed  me  peevishly,  twiddling 
his  broken  pipe,  and  I  saw  he  longed  to  launch  it  at 
my  head,  which  made  me  laugh  till  his  large,  round, 
red  face  grew  grayer  and  foggier  through  the  mirth- 
mist  in  my  eyes. 

"Am  I  so  droll?"  he  snapped. 

"Oh  yes,  yes,  Sir  Lupus,"  I  cried,  weakly.  "Don't 
grudge  me  this  laugh.  It  is  all  1  can  do." 

A  grim  smile  came  over  his  broad  face. 

"  Touched !"  he  said.  "  I've  a  fine  pair  on  my  hands 
now — you  and  Sir  George  Covert — to  plague  me  and 
prick  me  with  your  wit,  like  mosquitoes  round  a  drowsy 
man.  A  fine  family  conference  we  shall  have,  with 
Sir  John  Johnson  and  the  Butlers  shooting  one  way, 
you  and  Sir  George  Covert  firing  t'other,  and  me  be- 
twixt you,  singing  psalms  and  getting  all  your  arrows 
in  me,  fore  and  aft." 

"Who  is  Sir  George  Covert?"  I  asked. 

"One  o'  the  Calverts,  Lord  Baltimore's  kin,  a  sort 
of  cousin  of  the  Ormond-Butlers,  a  supercilious  dandy, 

57 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

a  languid  macaroni;  plagues  me,  damn  his  impudence, 
but  I  can't  hate  him  —  no!  Hate  him?  Faith,  I  owe 
him  more  than  any  man  on  earth  .  .  .  and  love  him  f«»r 
it — which  is  strange!" 

"Has  he  an  estate  in  jeopardy?"  I  inquired. 

"Yes.  He  has  a  mansion  in  Albany,  too,  which 
he  leases.  He  bought  a  mile  on  the  great  Vlaie  and 
all  alone,  shooting,  fishing,  playing  the 
guitar  o'  moony  nights,  which  they  say  sets  UK  wild- 
cats wilder.  Mark  me,  George,  a  petty  mile  square 
and  a  shooting  and  this  languid  ass  says  he 

means  to  fight  for  it.     Lord  lu-lp  the  man!    I  told  him 
I'd  buy  him  out  to  save  him  from  embroiling  us  all, 
and  what  d'  ye  think?     lie  stared  at  me  through  his 
lorgnons  as  though  1  tad  been  some  queer,  n 
and,  says  he, 'Lud!' says  h  'in- 

less  sport  in  y«»u  Lupus,  but  you  don 

your  title  ri^ht/  says  he.  'Change  the  a  to  an  o  and 
add  an  ell  for  good  measure,  and  there  you  h 
says  he,  a-drawlin^.  With  \\hich  lu  minced  off,  dust- 
ing his  nose  with  his  lace  handkerchief,  and  I'm 
damned  if  1  see  the  joke  yet  in  spelling  patroon  with 
an  o  for  the  a  and  an  ell  for  good  measi 

He  paused,  out  of  breath,  to  pour  himself  som 
« Jc  muttered.     "  Where  the  devil  is  it?    1  see 

no  wit  in  that"    And  he  picked  up  a  fresh  pipe  fi 
the  rack  on  tne  table  and  moistened  the  cl.  his 

i*t  tongue. 

We  sat  in  silence  for  a  while.     That  this  Sir  George 
Covert  should  call  the  patroon  a  poltroon  hurt  me,  for 
was  kin  to  us  both;  yet  it  seemed  that  there  might  be 
truth  in  the  insoKnt  llmg,  for  selfishness  and  polu 
ery  are  too  often  linked. 

I  raised  my  eyes  and  looked  almost  furtively  at  my 
cousin  Varick.  He  had  no  neck;  the  spot  where  his 
bullet  head  joined  his  body  was  marked  only  by  * 


SIR    LUPUS 

narrow  and  soiled  stock.  His  eyes  alone  relieved  the 
monotony  of  a  stolid  countenance ;  all  else  was  fat. 

Sunk  in  my  own  reflections,  lying  back  in  my  arm- 
chair, I  watched  dreamily  the  smoke  pouring  from 
the  patroon's  pipe,  floating  away,  to  hang  wavering 
across  the  room,  now  lifting,  now  curling  downward, 
as  though  drawn  by  a  hidden  current  towards  the  un- 
waxed  oaken  floor. 

No,  there  was  no  Ormond  in  him ;  he  was  all  Varick, 
all  Dutch,  all  patroon. 

I  had  never  seen  any  man  like  him  save  once,  when 
a  red-faced  Albany  merchant  came  a-waddling  to  the 
sea-islands  looking  for  cotton  and  indigo,  and  we  all 
despised  him  for  the  eagerness  with  whkh  he  trimmed 
his  shillings  at  the  Augustine  taverns.  Thrift  is  a 
word  abused,  and  serves  too  often  as  a  mask  for  av- 
arice. 

As  I  sat  there  fashioning  wise  saws  and  proverbs 
in  my  busy  mind,  the  hall  door  opened  and  the  first 
guest  was  announced — Sir  George  Covert 

And  in  he  came,  a  well-built,  lazy  gentleman  of  forty, 
swinging  gracefully  on  a  pair  o'  legs  no  man  need  take 
shame  in;  ruffles  on  cuff  and  stock,  hair  perfumed, 
powdered,  and  rolled  twice  in  French  puffs,  and  on 
his  hand  a  brilliant  that  sparkled  purest  fire.  Under 
one  arm  he  bore  his  gold-^dged  hat,  and  as  he  strolled 
forward,  peering  coolly  about  him  through  his  quizzing 
glass,  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  such  graceful  assur- 
ance, nor  such  insolently  handsome  eyes,  marred  by 
the  faint  shadows  of  dissipation. 

Sir  Lupus  nodded  a  welcome  and  blew  a  great  cloud 
of  smoke  into  the  air. 

"Ah/'  observed  Sir  George,  languidly,  "Vesuvius 
in  eruption?" 

"  How  de  do/'  said  Sir  Lupus,  suspiciously. 

"  The  mountain  welcomes  Mohammed,"  commented 

59 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Sir  George.  "  Mohammed  greets  the  mountain  I  I  low 
de  do,  Sir  Lupus!  Ah!"  He  turned  gracefully  tow- 
ards me,  bowing.  "Pray  present  me,  Sir  Lupi 

"My   cousin,   George   Ormond,"   said    Sir   Lupus. 
"George  first,  George  second,"  he  added,  with  a  sneer. 

"No  relation  to  George  III.,  I  trust,  sir?"  inquired 
Sir  George,   anxiously,  offering   his  cool,  well-k 
hand. 

"No,"  said  I,  laughing  at  his  serious  countenance 
and  returning  his  clasp  firmly. 

lat's  well,  that's  well,"  murmured  Sir  George, 
apparently  vastly  relieved,  and  invited  me  to  take 
snuff  with  him. 

We  had  scarcely  exchanged  a  civil  word  or  two 
ere  the  servant  announced  Captain  Walter  Butler, 
and  I  turned  curiously,  to  see  a  dark,  graceful  youn^ 
man  enter  and  stand  for  a  moment  staring  haugli 
straight  at  me.  He  wore  a  very  elegant  black-. u id- 
orange  uniform,  without  gorget ;  a  black  military  cloak 
hung  from  his  shoulders,  caught  uj  sword  knot. 

With  a  quick  movement  he  raised  his  hand  and  re- 
moved his  officer's  hat,  and  I  saw  on  his  ^.-untlei 
fine  doeskin  the  Ormond  arms,  heavily  embroidered. 
Instantly  the  affectation  displeased 

"Come  to  the  r  i,  brother  prophet,"  said  Sir 

George,  waving  his  hand  towards  the  seated  patroon. 
He  came,  lightly  as  a  panther,  k,  well-cut  feat- 

ures softening  a  trifle;  and  I  thought  him  handsome 
in  his  uniform,  wearing  his  own  dark  hair  unpow- 
dered,  tied  in  a  short  queue;  but  when  he  turned  full 
face  to  greet  Sir  George  Covert,  I  was  astonished  to  see 
the  cruelty  in  his  almost  perfect  features,  which  were 
smooth  as  a  woman's,  and  lighted  by  a  pair  of  clear, 
dark-golden  e^es. 

Ah,  those  wonderful  eyes  of  Walter  Butler — ever- 
changing  eyes,  now  almost  black,  glimmeriTi 

60 


SIR    LUPUS 

ardent  fire,  now  veiled  and  amber,  now  suddenly  a 
shallow  yellow,  round,  staring,  blank  as  the  eyes  of  a 
caged  eagle;  and,  still  again,  piercing,  glittering,  nar- 
rowing to  a  slit  Terrible  mad  eyes,  that  I  have  never 
forgotten — never,  never  can  forget. 

As  Sir  Lupus  named  me,  Walter  Butler  dropped  Sir 
George's  hand  and  grasped  mine,  too  eagerly  to  please 
me. 

"Ormond  and  Ormond-Butler  need  no  friends  to  rec- 
ommend them  each  to  the  other/'  he  said,  and  straight- 
way fell  a-talking  of  the  greatness  of  the  Arrans  and 
the  Ormonds,  and  of  that  duke  who,  attainted,  fled  to 
France  to  save  his  neck. 

I  strove  to  be  civil,  yet  he  embarrassed  me  before 
the  others,  babbling  of  petty  matters  interesting  only 
to  those  whose  taste  invites  them  to  go  burrowing  in 
parish  records  and  ill-smelling  volumes  written  by 
some  toad-eater  to  his  patron. 

For  me,  I  am  an  Ormond,  and  I  know  tha{  it  would 
be  shameful  if  I  turned  rascal  and  besmirched  my 
name.  As  to  the  rest — the  dukes,  the  glory,  the  great- 
ness— I  hold  it  concerns  nobody  bnt  the  dead,  and  it  is 
a  foolishness  to  plague  folks'  ears  by  boasting  of  deeds 
done  by  those  you  never  knew,  like  a  Seminole  chant- 
ing ere  he  strikes  the  painted  post 

Also,  this  Captain  Walter  Butler  was  overlarding 
his  phrases  with  "Cousin  Ormond/'  so  that  I  was 
soon  cloyed,  and  nigh  ready  to  damn  the  relationship 
to  his  face. 

Sir  Lupus,  who  had  managed  to  rise  by  this  time, 
waddled  off  into  the  drawing-room  across  the  hallway, 
motioning  us  to  follow;  and  barely  in  time,  too,  for 
there  came,  shortly,  Sir  John  Johnson  with  a  company 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  very  gay  in  their  damasks, 
brocades,  and  velvets,  which  the  folds  of  their  foot 
mantles,  capuchins,  and  cardinals  revealed. 

61 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

The  gentlemen  had  come  a-horseback,  and  all  \\<>rc 
very  elegant  uniforms  under  their  sober  cloaks,  \vhkh 
were  linked  with  gold  chains  at  liic  throat;  the  ladies, 
prettily  powdered  and  patched,  appeared  a  trifle  <> 
colored,  and  their  necks  and  shoulders,   innocent  of 
buffonts,  gleamed  pearl-tinted  above  their  gay  bn 
knots.    And   they   made  a    sparkling  bevy  as   t 
fluttered  up  the  staircase   to   their  cloak-room,  \\hile 
ntered  the  drawing-room,   followed  by  the 
other  gentlemen,  and  stood  in  careless  conversation 
with  the  patroon,  while  old  Cato  disembarrassed  him 
of  cloak  and  hat 

Sir  John  Johnson,  son  of  the  great  Sir  \Yilliam,  as 
[  first  saw  him  was  a  man  of  less  than  middle  age, 
flabby,  cold-eyed,  heavy  of  foot  and  hand.  On  his 
light-colored  hair  he  wore  no  powder;  the  rather  long 
queue  was  tied  with  a  green  hair-ribbon;  the  thick, 
whitish  folds  of  his  double  chin  rested  on  a  but! 
stock. 

For  the  rest,  he  wore  a  green-and-gold  uniform  of 
very  elegant  cut — green  being  the  garb  of  his  region 
the  Royal  Greens,  as  I  learned  afterwards — and  his 
buff-topped  boots  and  his  metals  were  brilliant  and 
plainly  new. 

When  the  patroon  named  me  to  him  he  turned  his 
lack-lustre  eyes  on  me  and  offered  me  a  large,  d; 
hand. 

In  tuni  I  was  made  acquainted  with  the  several 
officers  in  his  suite — Colonel  John  Butler,  father  of 
Captain  Walter  Butler,  broad  and  squat,  a  withered 
prophecy  of  what  the  son  might  one  day  be;  Col' 

iel  Claus,  a   rather   merry  and   battered   Indian 
fighter;  Colonel  Guy  Johnson,  of  Guy  Park,  dark 

Captain  Campbell,  and  a  Captain  McDon- 
ald of  Perth. 

All  wore  the  green  uniform  save  the  Butlers;  all 

62 


SIR   LUPUS 

greeted  me  with  particular  civility  and  conducted  like 
the  respectable  company  they  appeared  to  be,  politely 
engaging  me  in  pleasant  conversation,  desiring  news 
from  Florida,  or  complimenting  me  upon  my  courtesy, 
which,  they  vowed,  had  alone  induced  me  to  travel  a 
thousand  miles  for  the  sake  of  permitting  my  kins- 
men the  pleasure  of  welcoming  me. 

One  by  one  the  gentlemen  retired  to  exchange  their 
spurred  top-boots  for  white  silk  stockings  and  silken 
pumps,  and  to  arrange  their  hair  or  stick  a  patch  here 
and  there,  and  rinse  their  hands  in  rose-water  to  cleanse 
them  of  the  bridle's  odor. 

They  were  still  thronging  the  gun-room,  and  I  stood 
alone  in  the  drawing-room  with  Sir  George  Covert, 
when  a  lady  entered  and  courtesied  low  as  we  bowed 
together. 

And  truly  she  was  a  beauty,  with  her  skin  of  rose- 
ivory,  her  powdered  hair  a-gleam  with  brilliants,  her 
eyes  of  purest  violet,  a  friendly  smile  hovering  on  her 
fresh,  scarlet  mouth. 

"Well,  sir,"  she  said,  "do  you  not  know  me?"  And 
to  Sir  George :  "  I  vow,  he  takes  me  for  a  guest  in  my 
own  house!" 

And  then  I  knew  my  cousin  Dorothy  Varick. 

She  suffered  us  to  salute  her  hand,  gazing  the  while 
about  her  indifferently;  and,  as  I  released  her  slender 
fingers  and  raised  my  head,  she,  rounded  arm  still 
extended  as  though  forgotten,  snapped  he"  thumb 
and  forefinger  together  in  vexation  with  a  "Plague 
on  it!  There's  that  odious  Sir  John!" 

"  Is  Sir  John  Johnson  so  offensive  to  your  ladyship?" 
inquired  Sir  George,  lazily. 

"Offensive!  Have  you  not  heard  how  the  beast 
drank  wine  from  my  slipper!  Never  mind!  I  can- 
not endure  him.  Sir  George,  you  must  sit  by  me  at 
table — and  you,  too,  Cousin  Ormond,  or  he'll  come 

63 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

bothering."  She  glanced  at  the  open  door  of  the  gun- 
room, a  frown  on  her  white  brow.  "Oh,  they're  all 
here,  I  see.  Sparks  will  fly  ere  sun-up.  There's 
Campbell,  and  McDonald,  too,  wi'  the  meraor}'  of  Glen- 
coe  still  stewing  betwixt  them ;  and  there's  Guy  John- 
son, with  a  price  on  his  head — and  ]>li-my  to  sell  it  for 
him  in  County  Tryon,  gentlemen!  And  there's  youni; 
Walter  Butler,  cursing  poor  Cato  that  he  touched  his 
spur  in  drawing  off  his  boots — if  he  strikes  Cato  I'll 
strike  him !  And  where  are  their  fine  ladies,  Sir  G  cor 
Still  primping  at  the  mirror?  Oh,  la!"  She  stepped 
back,  laughing,  raising  her  lovely  arms  a  little.  "  Look 
at  me.  A  in  I  well  laced,  with  nobody  to  aid  me  save 
Cecile,  poor  child,  and  Benny  to  hold  the  candles — he 
being  young  enough  for  the  office?'9 

"Happy,  happy  Benny  I"  murmured   Sir  George, 
inspecting  her  through  his  quizzing-glass  from  head 
toe. 

"If  you  think  it  a  happy  office  you  may  fill  it  your- 
self in  future,  Sir  George/'  she  said.  "  I  never  knew 
an  ass  who  failed  to  bray  in  ecstasy  at  mention  of  a 
pair  o'  stays." 

Sir  George  stared,  and  said,  "Aha!  clever — very, 
very  clever  1"  in  so  patronizing  a  tone  that  Dorothy 
reddened  and  bit  her  lip  in  vexation. 

"  That  is  ever  your  way/'  she  said,  "  when  I  parry 
you  to  -our  confusion*  Take  your  eyes  from  me,  Sir 
Georgr  Cousin  Onnond,  am  I  dressed  to  your  taste 
or  not?" 

She  stood  there  in  her  gown  of  brocade,  beautifully 
flowered  in  peach  color,  dainty,  confident,  challenging 
me  to  note  one  fault  Nor  could  I,  from  the  gold  hair- 
pegs  in  her  hair  to  the  tip  of  her  slim,  pompadour  shoes 
peeping  from  the  lace  of  her  petticoat,  which  she  lifted 
a  trifle  to  show  her  silken,  flowered  hose. 

And— "There!"  she  cried,  "  I  gowned  myself,  and  I 

64 


SIR   LUPUS 

wear  no  paint  I  wish  you  would  tell  them  as  much 
when  they  laugh  at  me." 

Now  came  the  ladies,  rustling  down  the  stairway, 
and  the  gentlemen,  strolling  in  from  their  toilet  and 
stirrup-cups  in  the  gun-room,  and  I  noted  that  all  wore 
service-swords,  and  laid  their  pistols  on  the  table  in 
the  drawing-room. 

"Do  they  fear  a  surprise?"  I  whispered  to  Sir  George 
Covert 

"Oh  yes;  Jack  Mount  and  the  Stoners  are  abroad. 
But  Sir  John  has  a  troop  of  his  cut-throat  horsemen 
picketed  out  around  us.  You  see,  Sir  John  broke  his 
parole,  and  Walter  Butler  is  attainted,  and  it  might 
go  hard  with  some  of  these  gentlemen  if  General  Schuy- 
ler's  dragoons  caught  them  here,  plotting  nose  to  nose." 

"Who  is  this  Jack  Mount?"  I  asked,  curiously,  re- 
membering my  companion  of  the  Albany  road. 

"One  of  Cresap's  riflemen,"  he  drawled,  "sent  back 
here  from  Boston  to  raise  the  country  against  the  in- 
vasion. They  say  he  was  a  highwayman  once,  but 
we  Tories"  —  he  laughed  shamelessly  —  "say  many 
things  in  these  days  which  may  not  help  us  at  the 
judgment  day.  Wait,  there's  that  little  rosebud,  Claire 
Putnam,  Sir  John's  flame.  Take  her  in  tc  table;  she's 
a  pretty  little  plaything.  Lady  Johnson,  who  was 
Polly  Watts,  is  in  Montreal,  you  see."  He  made  a 
languid  gesture  with  outspread  hands,  smiling. 

The  girl  he  indicated  Mistress  Claire  Putnam,  was  a 
fragile,  willowy  creature,  over-thin,  perhaps,  yet  won- 
derfully attractive  and  pretty,  and  there  was  much  of 
good  in  her  face,  and  a  tinge  of  pathos,  too,  for  all 
her  bright  vivacity. 

"  If  Sir  John  Johnson  put  her  away  when  he  wedded 
Miss  Watts,"  said  Sir  George,  coolly,  "I  think  he  did 
it  from  interest  and  selfish  calculation,  not  because 
he  ceased  to  love  her  in  his  bloodless,  fishy  fashion. 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

And  now  that  Lady  Johnson  has  fled  to  Canada,  Sii 
John  makes  no  pretence  of  hiding  his  amours  in  the 
society  which  he  haunts;  nor  does  that  society  take 
umbrage  at  the  no  tionship  so  impudently 

renewed.     We're  a  shameless  lot,  Mr.  Onnoiul." 

At  that  moment  I  heard  Sir  John  Johnson,  at  my 
elbow,  saying  to  Sir  Lupus:  "  Do  you  know  what  these 
damned  lebels  have  had  the  impudence  to  do?  I  can 
scarce  credit  it  myself,  but  it  is  said  that  their  Congress 
has  adopted  a  flag  of  thirteen  tripes  and  thirteen  stars 
on  a  blue  field,  and  I'm  cursed  if  I  don't  believe  they 
mean  to  hoist  the  filthy  rag  in  our  TCTJ  faces!" 


V 

A  NIGHT  AT  THE  PATROON'S 

UNDER  a  flare  of  yellow  candle-light  we  entered 
the  dining -hall  and  seated  ourselves  before  a 
table  loaded  with  flowers  and  silver,  and  the  most 
beautiful  Flemish  glass  that  I  have  ever  seen ;  though 
they  say  that  Sir  William  Johnson's  was  finer. 

The  square  windows  of  the  hall  were  closed,  the 
dusty  curtains  closely  drawn;  the  uir,  though  fresh, 
was  heavily  saturated  with  perfume.  Between  each 
window,  and  higher  up,  small,  square  loop-holes  pierced 
the  solid  walls.  The  wooden  flap-hoods  of  these  were 
open;  through  them  poured  the  fresh  night  air,  stirring 
the  clustered  flowers  and  the  jewelled  aigrets  in  the 
ladies'  hair. 

The  spectacle  was  pretty,  even  beautiful;  at  every 
lady's  cover  lay  a  gift  from  the  patroon,  a  crystal  bosom- 
glass,  mounted  in  silver  filigree,  filled  with  roses  in 
scented  water;  and,  at  the  sight,  a  gust  of  hand-clap- 
ping swept  around  the  table,  like  the  rattle  of  Decem- 
ber winds  through  dry  palmettos. 

In  a  distant  corner,  slaves,  dressed  fancifully  and 
turbaned  like  Barbary  blackamoors,  played  on  fiddles 
and  guitars,  and  the  music  was  such  as  I  should  have 
enjoyed,  loving  all  melody  as  I  do,  yet  could  scarcely 
hear  it  in  the  flutter  and  chatter  rising  around  me  as 
the  ladies  placed  the  bosom-bottles  in  their  stomachers 
and  opened  their  Marlborough  fans  to  set  them  wav* 
ing  all  like  restless  wings. 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Yet,  under  this  surface  elegance  and  display,  one 
could   scarcely  choose  but  note   Imw   everywhere  an 
amazing  shiftlessness  reigned  in  the  patroon's  house. 
Cobwebs  canopied  the  ceiling-beams  with  tl 
ragged  banners  afloat  in  the  candle's  heat;  dust,  like 
a  velvet  mantle,  lay  over  the  Dutch  plates  and  teapots, 
ranged  on  shelves  against  the  panelled  wall  midway 
ig  and  un waxed  floor;  the  gaudy  yellow 
ries  of  the  black  servants  were  soiled  and  tarnished 
and  ill  '  nd  all  wore  slovenly  rolls,  tied  to  imitate 

scratch  !ie  effect  of  which  was  amazing.    The 

passion  for  cleanliness  in  the  Dutch  lies  not  in  their 
men  folk;  a  Dutch  mistress  of  this  manor  house  had 
died  o'  shame  long  since— or  died  o'  scrubbing. 

I  felt  mean  and  ungracious  to  sit  there  spying  at  my 
host's  table,  and  strove  to  forget  it,  yet  was  forced  to 
wipe  furtively  spoon  and  fork  upon  the  napkin  on 
knees  ere  I  durst  acquaint  them  with  my  mouth;  and 
so  did  others, as  I  saw ;  but  they  did  it  openly  and  with- 
out pretence  of  concealment,  and  nobody  took  offence. 

Sir  Lupus  cared  nothing  for  precedence  at  table,  and 
said  so  when  he  seated  us,  which  brought  a  sneer  to 
Sir  John  Johnson's  mouth  and  a  scowl  to  Walter  But- 
ler's brow :  but  this  provincial  boorishness  appeared  to 
be  forgotten  ere  the  decanters  had  slopped  the  cloth 
e,  and  fair  faces  flushed,  and  voices  grew  gayer, 
and  the  rattle  of  silver  assaulting  china  and  !  low 

ring  of  glasses  swelled  into  a  steady,  melodious  dm 
which  stirred  the  blood  to  my  cheeks. 

We  Orraonds  love  gayety  —  I  choose  the  mildest 
phrase  I  know.  Yet,  take  us  at  our  worst,  Irish  that 
we  are,  and  if  there  be  a  taint  of  license  to  our  revels, 
and  if  we  drink  tin-  toast  to  the  devil's  own  un- 

doine,  the  vital  spring  of  our  people  remains  unpollu 

'a   strength  and   purity   unsoiled,  guarded 
forever  by  the  chastity  of  our  women. 

68 


A    NIGHT    AT   THE    PATROON$S 

Savoring  my  claret,  I  glanced  askance  at  ray  neigh- 
bors ;  on  ray  left  sat  ray  cousin  Dorothy  Varick,  frankly 
absorbed  in  a  roasted  pigeon,  yet  wielding  knife  and 
fork  with  much  grace  and  address ;  on  my  right  Mag« 
dalen  Brant,  step -cousin  to  Sir  John,  a  lovely,  soft- 
voiced  girl,  with  velvety  eyes  and  the  faintest  dusky 
tint,  which  showed  the  Indian  blood  through  the  car- 
mine in  her  fresh,  curved  cheeks. 

I  started  to  speak  to  her,  but  there  came  a  call  from 
the  end  of  the  table,  and  we  raised  our  glasses  to  Sir 
Lupus,  for  which  civility  he  expressed  his  thanks  and 
gave  us  the  ladies,  which  we  drank  standing,  and  re- 
versed our  glasses  with  a  cheer. 

Then  Walter  Butler  gave  us  "The  Ormonds  and  the 
Earls  of  Arran,"  an  amazing  vanity,  which  shamed 
me  so  that  I  sat  biting  my  lip,  furious  to  see  Sir  John 
wink  at  Colonel  Claus,  and  itching  to  fling  my  glass 
at  the  head  of  this  young  fool  whose  brain  seemed 
cracked  with  brooding  on  his  pedigree. 

Meat  was  served  ere  I  was  called  on,  but  later,  a  de- 
licious Burgundy  being  decanted,  all  called  me  with  a 
persistent  clamor,  so  that  I  was  obliged  to  ask  per- 
mission of  Sir  Lupus,  then  rise,  still  tingling  with  the 
memory  of  the  silly  toast  offered  by  Walter  Butler. 

"I  give  you,"  I  said,  "a  republic  where  self-respect 
balances  the  coronet,  where  there  is  no  monarch,  no 
high-priest,  but  only  a  clean  altar,  served  by  the  par- 
liament of  a  united  people.  Gentlemen,  raise  your 
glasses  to  the  colonies  of  America  and  their  ancient 
liberties!" 

And,  amazed  at  what  I  had  said,  and  knowing  that 
I  had  not  meant  to  say  it,  I  lifted  my  glass  and  drained 
it. 

Astonishment  altered  every  face.  Walter  Butler 
mechanically  raised  his  glass,  then  set  it  down,  then 
raised  it  once  more,  gazing  blankly  at  me;  and  I 

69 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

others  hesitate,  as  though  striving  to  recollect  the  ex- 
act terms  of  my  toast.     But,  after  a  second'.-  <>n, 

all  drank  sitting.     Then  each  looked  inquiringly  at 
me,  at  neighbors,  puzzU  Iready  partly  reassured. 

"Gad!"  said    Colonel   Claus,  bluntlv,  "I    thought 
at  first  that  Burgundy  smacked  somewhat  of  Bo- 
tea." 

"The    Burgundy's    sound    enough,"    said    Colonel 
John  Butler,  grimly. 

"So  is  the  toast."  bawled  Sir  Lnpu  s  a  pa- 

cific toast,  a  soothing  sentiment,   neither  one  thing 
not  t'other.     Dammy,  it's  a  toast  no  Quaker  need  re- 


r  Lupus,  your  permission!"  broke  out  Captain 
Campbell,     "'lontlemen,   it  is  strange  that  not   < 
of  his  Majesty's  officers  has  proposed  tin   !  1  U 

looked  straight  at  me  and  said,  without  turning  his 
head:  "All  loyal  at  this  table  will  fill.     Indies,  gen- 
tlemen, I  give  you  his  Majesty  the  King!" 
The  toast  was  finished  amid  cheers.     I  drained  mv 
ss  and  turned  it  down  with  a  bow  to  Captain  Camp- 
,  who  bowed  to  me  as  though  greatly  relieved. 

fiddles,  bassoons,  and  guitars  were  playing  and 

the  slaves  singing  when  the  n<>  iic  cheering  died 

away;  and  I  heard  Dorothy  beside  me  humming  the 

1  tapping  the  floor  with  her  silken  shoe,  while 

she  moistened  macaroons  in  a  glass  of  Madeira  and 

>led  them  with  serene  satisfaction. 
"You  appear  to  be  happy,    i  whispered. 
"  Perfectly.    I  adore  sweets.     Will  you  try  a  dish 
ut  cinnamon  cake?    Sop  it  in  Burgundy;  they  har- 
monize to  a  most  heavenly  taste.  .  .  .  Look  at  M. 
dalen  Brant,  is  she  not  sweet?    Her  cousin  is  Molly 
Brant,  old  Sir  William's  sweetheart,  fled  to  Canada. 
.    .   .   She   follows  this  week  with  Betty  Austin,  th.a 
black-eyed  little  mischief-maker  on  Sir  John's  right, 

70 


A   NIGHT   AT   THE    PATROON'S 

who  owes  her  diamonds  to  Guy  Johnson.  La!  What 
a  gossip  I  grow!  But  it's  county  talk,  and  all  know  it, 
and  nobody  cares  save  the  Albany  blue-noses  and  the 
Van  Cortlandts,  who  fall  backward  with  standing  too 
straight—" 

"Dorothy,"  I  said,  sharply,  "a  blunted  innocence  is 
better  than  none,  but  it's  a  pity  you  know  so  much!" 

"How  can  I  help  it?"  she  asked,  calmly,  dipping 
another  macaroon  into  her  glass. 

"  It's  a  pity,  all  the  same,"  I  said. 

"Dew  on  a  duck's  back,  my  friend,"  she  observed, 
serenely.  "Cousin,  if  I  were  fashioned  for  evil  I  had 
been  tainted  long  since." 

She  sat  up  straight  and  swept  the  table  with  a 
heavy-lidded,  insolent  glance,  eyebrows  raised.  The 
cold  purity  of  her  profile,  the  undimmed  innocence, 
the  childish  beauty  of  the  curved  cheek,  touched  me 
to  the  quick.  Ah!  the  white  flower  to  flourish  here 
amid  unconcealed  corruption,  with  petals  stainless, 
with  bloom  undimmed,  with  all  its  exquisite  fragrance 
still  fresh  and  wholesome  in  an  air  heavy  with  wine 
and  the  odor  of  dying  roses. 

I  looked  around  me.  Guy  Johnson,  red  in  the  face, 
was  bending  too  closely  beside  his  neighbor,  Betty 
Austin.  Colonel  Claus  talked  loudly  across  the  table 
to  Captain  McDonald,  and  swore  fashionable  oaths 
which  the  gaunt  captain  echoed  obsequiously.  Claire 
Putnam  coquetted  with  her  paddle-stick  fan,  defend- 
ing her  roses  from  Sir  George  Covert,  while  Sir  John 
Johnson  stared  at  them  in  cold  disapproval;  and  I 
saw  Magdalen  Brant,  chin  propped  on  her  clasped 
hands,  close  her  eyes  and  breathe  deeply  while  the 
wine  burned  her  face,  setting  torches  aflame  in  either 
cheek.  Later,  when  I  spoke  to  her,  she  laughed  piti- 
fully, saying  that  her  ears  hummed  like  bee-hives. 
Then  she  said  that  she  meant  to  go,  but  made  no  move- 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

ment;  and  presently  her  dark  eyes  closed  again,  and  I 
saw  the  fever  pulse  beating  in  her  neck. 

Some  one  had  overturned  a  silver  basin  full  of  flow- 
ers, and  a  servant,  sopping  up  the  water,  had  brushed 
Walter  Butler  so  that  he  flew  into  a  passion  and  fluiiLT 
a  glass  at  the  unified  black,  which  set  Sir  Lupus 
laughing  till  he  choked,  but  which  enraged  me  that 
he  should  so  conduct  in  the  presence  of  his  host's 
daughter. 

Yet  if  Sir  Lupus  could  not  <>nl\  overlook  it,  but 
laugh  at  it,  I,  certes,  had  no  right  to  rebuke  what  to 
me  seemed  a  gross  insult. 

Toasts  flew  fast  now,  and  there  was  a  punch 
silver  bowl  as  large  as  a  bushel — and  spirits,  too,  \\  1m  h 
was  strange,  seeing  that  the  ladies  remained  at  ta 

Thai  Captain  Campbell  would  have  all  to  dunk 
tlu  Royal  Greens,  standing  on  chairs,  one  foot  on  the 
table,  which  appeared  to  be  his  ri  ess  cus- 

,  and  we  did  so,  the  ladies  laughing  and  protest- 
hut  finally  planting  their  dainty  shoes  on  the  edge 
table;  and  Magdalen  Brant  ni   h   tVll  «  if  In  r 
chair— for  lack  of  balance,  as  Sir  Geoi 
tested,  one  foot  alone  being  too  small  to  sustain  in  r 

iderella  complum-nt  at  our  expense!"  cried 
Betty  Austin,  but  Sir  Lupus  cried  ice  all,  and 

keep  one  foot  on  the  table!"     And  a  little  black  slave 
lad,  scarce  ian  a  babe,  appeared,  dressed  in  a 

\-skin,  bearing  a  basket  of  pretty  boxes  woven  out 
of  scented  grass  and  embroidered  with  silk  (!«.•.«. 

At  every  corner  he  laid  a  box,  all  exclaiming  and 
wondering  what  the  surprise  might  be,  until  tlu  little 
black,  arching  his  back,  i  I  yowl  like  a  lynx 

and  ran  out  on  all  fours. 

ie  gentlemen  will  open  the  boxes!  Ladies,  keep 
one  foot  on  the  table!"  bawled  Sir  Lupus.  We  bent 
to  open  the  boxes;  Magdalen  Brant  and  Dorothy  Var- 

72 


A   NIGHT   AT   THE    PATROON'S 

ick,  each  resting  a  hand  on  my  shoulder  to  steady 
them,  peeped  curiously  down  to  see.  And, "  Oh  1"  cried 
everybody,  as  the  lifted  box-lids  discovered  snow-white 
pigeons  sitting  on  great  gilt  eggs. 

The  white  pigeons  fluttered  out,  some  to  the  table, 
where  they  craned  their  necks  and  ruffled  their  snowy 
plumes ;  others  flapped  up  to  the  loop-holes,  where  they 
sat  and  watched  us. 

"Break  the  eggs!"  cried  the  patroon. 

I  broke  mine;  inside  was  a  pair  of  shoe-roses,  each 
Bet  with  a  pearl  and  clasped  with  a  gold  pin. 

Betty  Austin  clapped  her  hands  in  delight ;  Dorothy 
bent  double,  tore  off  the  silken  roses  from  each  shoe  in 
turn,  and  I  pinned  on  the  new  jewelled  roses  amid  a 
gale  of  laughter. 

"A  health  to  the  patroon!"  cried  Sir  George  Covert, 
and  we  gave  it  with  a  will,  glasses  down.  Then  all 
settled  to  our  seats  once  more  to  hear  Sir  George  sing 
a  song. 

A  slave  passed  him  a  guitar ;  he  touched  the 
strings  and  sang  with  good  taste  a  song  in  question- 
able taste : 

"Jeanneton  prend  sa  fauyille." 

A  delicate  melody  and  neatly  done;  yet  the  verse— 

"Le  deuxieme  plus  habile 
L'embrassant  sous  le  mentpn"— • 

made  me  redden,  and  the  envoi  nigh  burned  me  alive 
with  blushes,  yet  was  rapturously  applauded,  and  the 
patroon  fell  a-choking  with  his  gross  laughter. 

Then  Walter  Butler  would  sing,  and,  I  confess,  did 
it  well,  though  the  song  was  sad  and  the  words  too 
/nelancholy  to  please. 

"I  know  a  rebel  song,"  cried  Colonel  Claus.  "Here,, 

73 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

give  me  that  fiddle  and  I'll  fiddle  it,  daiiuny  if  I  don't 
—ay,  and  sing  it,  too!" 

In  a  shower  of  gibes  and  laughter  the  fiddle  \\.is 
fetched,  and  the  Indian  fighter  seized  the  bow  and  drew 
a  most  distressful  strain,  singing  in  a  whining  voice: 

"  Come  hearken  to  a  bloody  tale. 

Of  how  the  soldiery 
Did  murder  men  in  Boston. 

As  you  full  soon  shall  see. 
It  came  to  pass  on  March  the  fifth 

Of  seventeen^  r 
A  regiment,  the  twenty  ninth. 

i'rovi.krtl   a    .sad   affray  !" 

"Chorus!"  shouted  Captain  Campbell,  beating  tiim  : 

"  FoKde-roWe-rol-de-ray^ 
Provoked  a  sad  affray!" 

"That's  not  in  the  song!"  protested  Colonel  Claus, 
but  everybody  sanu  it  in  whining  tones. 

"Continue!"  cried  Captain  Campbell,  amid  a  burst 
of  laughter.  And  Claus  gravely  d  fiddle-bow 

across  the  strings  and  sang: 

-  In  Kins  Street,  by  the  Butcher's  Hal 

The  soldiers  on  us  fell, 
Likewise  before  their  barracks 

(It  I.H  the  truth  I  tell), 
And  such  a  dreadful  carnage 

In  Boston  ne'er  was  known; 
They  killed  Samuel  Maverick— 
gave  a  piteous  groan/' 

And,  "Fol-dcM-ol!"  roared  Captain  Campbell,  "He 
gave  a  piteous  groa 

"  John  Dark  he  was  wounded. 

On  him  they  did  fire; 
James  Caldwell  and  Crispus  Attacks 
Lay  bleeding  in  the  mire; 


A   NIGHT   AT   THE    PATROON'S 

Their  regiment,  the  twenty-ninth. 

Killed  Monk  and  Sam  I  Gray. 
While  Patrick  Carr  lay  cold  in  death 

And  could  not  flee  away— - 

"Oh,  tally!"  broke  out  Sir  John;  uare  we  to  listen 
to  such  stuff  all  night?" 

More  laughter ;  and  Sir  George  Covert  said  that  he 
feared  Sir  John  Johnson  had  no  sense  of  humor. 

"I  have  heard  that  before/'  said  Sir  John,  turning 
his  cold  eyes  on  Sir  George.  "But  if  we've  got  to 
sing  at  wine,  in  Heaven's  name  let  us  sing  something 
sensible." 

"No,  no!"  bawled  Claus.  "This  is  the  abode  of 
folly  to-night!"  And  he  sang  a  catch  from  "Pills  to 
Purge  Melancholy/'  as  broad  a  verse  as  I  cared  to 
hear  in  such  company. 

"Cheer  up,  Sir  John!"  cried  Betty  Austin;  "there 
are  other  slippers  to  drink  from — " 

Sir  John  stood  up,  exasperated,  but  could  not  face 
the  storm  of  laughter,  nor  could  Dorothy,  silent  and 
white  in  her  anger ;  and  she  rose  to  go,  but  seemed  to 
think  better  of  it  and  resumed  her  seat,  disdainful  eyes 
sweeping  the  table. 

"Face  the  fools,"  I  whispered.  "Your  confusion 
is  their  victory." 

Captain  McDonald,  stirring  the  punch,  filled  all 
glasses,  crying  out  that  we  should  drink  to  our 
sweethearts  in  bumpers. 

"Drink  'em  in  wine,"  protested  Captain  Campbell, 
thickly.  "Who  but  a  feckless  McDonald  wud  drink 
his  leddy  in  poonch?" 

"I  said  poonch!"  retorted  McDonald,  sternly.  "If 
ye  wish  wine,  drink  it;  but  I'm  thinkin'  the  Argyle 
Campbells  are  better  judges  o'  blood  than  of  red  wine." 

"Stop  that  clan-feud!"  bawled  the  patroon,  angrily. 

But  the  old  clan-feud  blazed  up,  kindled  from  the 

75 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

ever -smouldering  embers  of  Glencoe,  which  the  mas- 
sacre of  a  whole  clan  had  not  extingui.^  .ill  these 
years 

"  And  why  should  an  Argyle  Campbell  judge  blood?" 
cried  Captain  Campbell,  in  a  menacing  voice, 

"  And  why  not?"  retorted  McDonald.  "  Breadalbane 
spilled  enough  to  teach  ye," 

"Teach  who?" 

"  Teach  you  1 — and  the  whole  breed  o'  black  Camp, 
bells  from  Perth  to  Galway  and  Fonda's  Bush,  \\\. 
ye  dub  Broadalbin.  I  had  rather  be  a  Monteith  and 
have  the  betrayal  of  Wallace  cast  in  my  face  than  be 
a  Campbell  of  Argyle  wi'  the  memory  o'  Glencoe  to 
>w  me  to  hell" 

"Silence I"  roared  the  patroon,  struggling  to  his 
feet.    Sir  George  Covert  caught  at  Captain  Cainpb* 
sleeve  as  he  rose;  Sir  John  Johnson  stood  up,  1 
with  anger. 

" Let  this  end  nowl"  he  said,  sternly.    "Do  oil 
of  the  Royal  Greens  conduct  like  yokels  at  a  fair? 

>,  Captain  Campbell!     And   you,  Capt 
McDonald!    Take  your  seat,  sir;  and  if  I  hear  th.a 
cursed  word  'Glencoe'  again,  the  first  who  utters  it 
faces  a  court-martial  1" 

Partly  sobered,  the  Campbell  glared  mutely  at  the 
McDonald;  the  latter  also  appeared  to  have  recov- 
ered a  portion  of  his  senses  and  resumed  his  seat 
in  silence,  glowering  at  the  empty  glasses  before 
him. 

"Now  be  sensible,  gentlemen/'  said  Colonel  Clans, 
with  a  jovial  nod  to  the  patroon;  "let  pass,  let  pass. 
This  is  no  time  to  raise  the  fiery  cross  in  the  hills.  Gad, 
there's  a  new  pibroch  to  inarch  to  these  days — 

"Pibroch  o'  HirokAuel 
Pibroch  o'  HirokaueP 

70 


A    NIGHT   AT    THE    PATROON'S 

ne  hummed,  deliberately,  but  nobody  laughed,  and  the 
grave,  pale  faces  of  the  women  turned  questioningly 
one  to  the  other. 

Enemies  or  allies,  there  was  terror  in  the  name  of 
"Iroquois/'  But  Walter  Butler  looked  up  from  his 
gloomy  meditation  and  raised  his  glass  with  a  ghastly 
laugh. 

"  I  drink  to  our  red  allies/'  he  said,  slowly  drained 
his  glass  till  but  a  color  remained  in  it,  then  dipped 
his  finger  in  the  dregs  and  drew  upon  the  white  table- 
cloth a  blood-red  cross. 

"There's  your  clan-sign,  you  Campbells,  you  Mc- 
Donalds/' he  said,  with  a  terrifying  smile  which  none 
could  misinterpret. 

Then  Sir  George  Covert  said :  "  Sir  William  Johnson 
knew  best.  Had  he  lived,  there  had  been  no  talk  of 
the  Iroquois  as  allies  or  as  enemies." 

I  said, looking  straight  at  Walter  Butler:  "Can  there 
be  any  serious  talk  of  turning  these  wild  beasts  loose 
against  the  settlers  of  Tryon  County?" 

"  Against  rebels,"  observed  Sir  John  Johnson,  cold- 
ly. "No  loyal  man  need  fear  our  Mohawks/' 

A  dead  silence  followed.  Servants,  clearing  the 
round  table  of  silver,  flowers,  cloth — all,  save  glasses 
and  decanters — stepped  noiselessly,  and  I  knew  the 
terror  of  the  Iroquois  name  had  sharpened  their  dull 
ears.  Then  came  old  Cato,  tricked  out  in  flame-col- 
ored plush,  bearing  the  staff  of  major-domo;  and  the 
servants  in  their  tarnished  liveries  marshalled  behind 
him  and  filed  out,  leaving  us  seated  before  a  bare  table, 
\\ith  only  our  glasses  and  bottles  to  break  the  expanse 
of  polished  mahogany  and  soiled  cloth. 

Captain  McDonald  rose,  lifted  the  steaming  kettle 
from  the  hob,  and  set  it  on  a  great,  blue  tile,  and  the 
gentlemen  mixed  their  spirits  thoughtfully,  or  lighted 
long,  clay  pipes. 

77 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

The  patroon,  wreathed  in  smoke,  lay  back  in  his 
great  chair  and  rattled  his  toddy-stick  for  attention — 
an  unnecessary  noise,  for  all  were  watching  him,  and 
even  Walter  Butler's  gloomy  gaze  constantly  reverted 
to  that  gross,  red  face,  almost  buried  in  thick  tobacco- 
smoke,  like  the  head  of  some  intemperate  and  gro- 
tesquely swollen  Jupiter  crowned  with  clouds. 

The  plea  of  the  patroon  for  neutrality  in  the  war 
now  sweeping  towards  the  Mohawk  Valley  I  had  heard 
before.  So,  doubtless,  had  those  present. 

He  waxed  pathetic  over  the  danger  to  st  es- 

tate; he  pointed  out  the  conservative  attitude  of  the 
great  patroons  and  lords  of  the  manors  of  Livi 
Cosby,  Phillipse,  Van  Rensselaer,  and  Van  Cortlandt 

"What  about  Schm  b         I  asked. 

"Schuyler's  a  fool!"  he  retorted,  angrily.  " 
landed  proprietor  here  can  become  a  rebel  general  in 
exchange  for  his  estate!  A  fine  bargain!  A  thrift  v 
dicker!  Let  Philip  Schuyler  enjoy  his  brief  reign  in 
Albany.  What's  the  market  value  of  the  glory  he 
exchanged  for  his  broad  acres?  Can  you  appraise 
it.  Si 

Then  Sir  John  Johnson  arose,  and,  for  the  only  mo- 
ment  in  his  career,  he  stood  upon  a  principle — a  falla- 
cious one,  but  still  a  principle ;  and  for  that  I  respected 
him,  and  have  never  <i  t,  even  throi 

the  terrible  years  when  he  razed  and  burned  and  mur- 
dered among  a  people  who  can  never  forget  the  red 
atrocities  of  his  devastations. 

Glancing  slowly  around  the  table,  with  his  pale, 
cold  eyes  contracting  in  the  candl  ••«.-,  he  spoke 

in  a  voice  absolutely  passionless,  yet  which  carried  the 
conviction  to  all  that  what  he  uttered  was  hopele: 
final : 

"  Sir  Lupus  complains  that  he  hazards  all,  should  he 
cast  his  fortunes  with  his  Kmi:.  Vet  I  have  done  that 


A    NIGHT    AT   THE    PATROON'S 

thing.  I  am  to-day  a  man  with  a  price  set  on  my  head 
by  these  rebels  of  my  own  country.  My  lands,  if  not 
already  confiscated  by  rebel  commissioners,  are  occu- 
pied by  rebels;  my  manor-houses,  my  forts,  my  mills, 
my  tenants'  farms  are  held  by  the  rebels  and  my  rev- 
enues denied  me.  I  was  confined  on  parole  within 
the  limits  of  Johnson  Hall.  They  say  I  broke  my 
parole,  but  they  lie.  It  was  only  when  I  had  certain 
news  that  the  Boston  rebels  were  coming  to  seize  my 
person  and  violate  a  sacred  convention  that  I  retired 
to  Canada." 

He  paused.  The  explanation  was  not  enough  to 
satisfy  ine,  and  I  expected  him  to  justify  the  arming 
of  Johnson  Hall  and  his  discovered  intrigues  with  the 
Mohawks  which  set  the  rebels  on  the  march  to  seize 
his  person.  He  gave  none,  resuming  quietly : 

"I  have  hazarded  a  vast  estate,  vaster  than  yours, 
Sir  Lupus,  greater  than  the  estates  of  all  these  gen- 
tlemen combined.  I  do  it  because  I  owe  obedience  to 
the  King  who  has  honored  me,  and  for  no  other  reason 
on  earth.  Yet  I  do  it  in  fullest  confidence  and  belief 
that  my  lands  will  be  restored  to  me  when  this  rebel- 
lion is  stamped  wn  and  trodden  out  to  the  last  miser- 
able spark." 

He  hesitated,  wiped  his  thin  mouth  with  his  laced 
handkerchief,  and  turned  directly  towards  the  patroon. 

"You  ask  me  to  remain  neutral.  You  promise  me 
that,  even  at  this  late  hour,  my  surrender  and  oath 
of  neutrality  will  restore  me  my  estates  and  guaran- 
tee me  a  peaceful,  industrious  life  betwixt  two  tem- 
pests. It  may  be  so,  Sir  Lupus.  I  think  it  would  be 
so.  But,  my  friend,  to  fail  my  King  when  he  has  need 
of  me  is  a  villany  I  am  incapable  of.  The  fortunes  of 
his  Majesty  are  my  fortunes;  I  stand  or  fall  with  him. 
This  is  my  duty  as  I  see  it.  And,  gentlemen,  I  shall 
follow  it  while  life  endures." 

79 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

He  resumed  his  seat  amid  absoluu 
ently  the  patroon  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  C"l- 
1  Jolin  Butler. 

"May  we  hear  from  you,  sir?"  he  asked,  gravely. 

"I  trust  that  all  may,  one  day,  hear  from. Butler's 
Rangers,"  he  said. 

"And  I  swear  they  shall,"  broke  in  Walter  Bi 
his  dark  eyes  burning  like  golden  coals. 

"I  think  the  Royal  Greens  may  make  some  little 
c  in  the  world,"  said  Captain  Campbell,  with  an 
oatk 

Guy  Johnson  waved  his  thin,  brown  hand  towards 
the  patroon:  "I  hold  my  King's  commission  as  m- 
tendant  of  Indian  affairs  for  North  America.  Tfct 
enough  for  me.  Though  they  rob  me  of  Guy  Park  and 
every  acre,  I  shall  redeem  my  lands  in  a  manner  no 
man  can  ever  forget  I" 

added  Colonel  Claus,  in  his  bluff 
way,  "you  all  make  great  nurit  <>f  risking  property 
and  lift  in  tins  wretched  teapot  tempest;  you  all  take 
credit  for  unchaining  the  Mohawks.  But  you  give 
them  no  credit.  What  have  the  Iroquois  to  gain  by 
aiding  us?  Why  do  they  dig  up  the  hatchet,  hazard- 
ing the  only  thing  they  have —  their  lives?  Because 
they  are  led  by  a  man  who  told  the  rebel  Congress 
that  the  covenant  chain  whu  h  the  King  gave  to  the 
Mohawks  is  still  unspotted  by  dishonor,  un rusted  by 
treachery,  unbroken,  intact,  without  one  link  missing  I 
Gentlemen,  I  give  ycu  Joseph  Brant,  war-chief  of  the 
Mohawk  nation  1  Hiro  1 " 

All  filled  and  drank — save  three — Sir  George  Covert, 
Dorothy  Varick,  and  myself. 

I  felt  Walter  Butler's  glowing  eyes  upon  me,  and 
they  seemed  to  burn  out  the  last  vestige  of  my  patience. 

"Don't  rise!     Don't  speak  nowl"  whispered  Doro- 
thy, her  hand  closing  on  my  arm. 

So 


A    NIGHT    AT   THE    PATROON'S 

"I  must  speak/'  I  said,  aloud,  and  all  heard  me  and 
turned  on  me  their  fevered  eyes. 

"Speak  out,  in  God's  name!"  said  Sir  George  Co- 
vert, and  I  rose,  repeating,  "In  God's  name,  then!" 

"Give  no  offence  to  Walter  Butler,  I  beg  of  you," 
whispered  Dorothy. 

I  scarcely  heard  her;  through  the  candle-light  I 
saw  the  ring  of  eyes  shining,  all  watching  me. 

"I  applaud  the  loyal  sentiments  expressed  by  Sir 
John  Johnson,"  I  said,  slowly.  "Devotion  to  prin- 
ciple is  respected  by  all  men  of  honor.  They  tell  me 
that  our  King  has  taxed  a  commonwealth  against  its 
will.  You  admit  his  Majesty's  right  to  do  so.  That 
ranges  you  on  one  side.  Gentlemen,"  I  said,  deliber- 
ately, "I  deny  the  right  of  Englishmen  to  take  away 
the  liberties  of  Englishmen.  That  ranges  me  on  the 
other  side." 

A  profound  silence  ensued.     The  ring  of  eyes  glowed. 

"  And  now,"  said  I,  gravely,  "  that  we  stand  arrayed, 
each  on  his  proper  side,  honestly,  loyally  differing 
one  from  the  other,  let  us,  if  we  can,  strive  to  avert  a 
last  resort  to  arms.  And  if  we  cannot,  let  us  draw 
honorably,  and  trust  to  God  and  a  stainless  blade!" 

I  bent  my  eyes  on  Walter  Butler;  he  met  them  with 
a  vacant  glare. 

"Captain  Butler,"  I  said,  "if  our  swords  be  to-day 
stainless,  he  who  first  dares  employ  a  savage  to  do  his 
work  forfeits  the  right  to  bear  the  arms  and  title  of  a 
soldier." 

"Mr.  Ormond!  Mr.  Onnond!"  broke  in  Colonel 
Claus.  "Do  you  impeach  Lord  George  Germaine?" 

"I  care  not  whom  I  impeach!"  I  said,  hotly.  "If 
Lord  George  Germaine  counsels  the  employment  of 
Indians  against  Englishmen,  rebels  though  they  be, 
he  is  a  monstrous  villain  and  a  fool!" 

"Fool!"  shouted  Colonel  Campbell,  choking  with 
«  81 


THi:    MAID-AT-ARMS 

•e.     "He'd  be  a  f<*>l  t<>  let  these  rebels  win  over  the 
In*|  fore  we  <'. 

"What  rebel  has  sought  to  employ  the  Indians  ;t  [ 
(1.     "If  any  in  authority  have  dreamed  of  such  a 
nor,  they  are  guilty  as  though  already  judged  and 
damned!" 

"Mr.  Ormond,"  cut  in  <  iuy  Johnson,  fairly  trembling 
with  fury,  "you  deal  \  rlv  in  damnation.  Do 

you  perhaps  assume  the  divine  riirht  which  you  deny 

rig?" 

"  And  do  you  find  merit  in  crass  treason  burst 

out  McDonald,  striking  the  table  with  clinched  1 

cut  in  Sir  .Mm  Johnson,  "was  the  un- 
doing of  a  certain  noble  duke  in  Queen  Anne's  tin 

i  are  in  error,"  I  said,  calmly. 
"Was  James,  Duke  of  Onn«»nd.  not  impeached  by 
Stanhope  in  open  Parliament?"  shouted  Captain 
McDonald. 

louse  of  Commons,"  I  replied,  calmly,  "dis- 
honored itself  and  its  traditions  by  bringing  a  bill  of 
attainder  against  the  Duke  of  Ormond.  That  could 
not  make  bun  a  traitor." 

lie  was  not  a  traitor,"  broke  out  Walter  Butler, 
v.hite  to  the  lips,  "but  you  a: 

1  said. 
With  the  awful  hue  of  death  stamped  on  his  1 

Iter  Butler  rose  and  faced  me;  and  though  they 
dragged  us  to  our  seats,  shouting  and  exclaiming 
the  uproar  made  by  falling  chairs  and  the  rush  <>f  feet, 
he  still  kept  his  eyes  on  me,  shallow,  yellow,  depthless, 
terrible  eyes. 

"A  nice  scene  to  pass  in  women's  presence1"  roared 
the  patroon.  "Dammy,  Captain  Butler,  the  fault  lies 
first  with  you!  Withdraw  that  word  'traitor/  which 
touches  us  all!" 

"  He  has  so  named  himself,"  said  Walter  Butler. 

82 


A    NIGHT   AT    THE    PATROON'S 

"Withdraw  ill     You  foul  your  own  nest,  sir!" 

A  moment  passed.  "I  withdraw  it/'  motioned  But- 
ler, with  parched  lips. 

"Then  I  withdraw  the  lie,"  I  said,  watching  him. 

"That  is  well/'  roared  the  patroon.  ''That  is 
as  it  should  be.  Shall  kinsmen  quarrel  at  such  a 
time?  Offer  your  hand,  Captain  Butler.  Offer  yours, 
George." 

"No,"  I  said,  and  gazed  mildly  at  the  patroon. 

Sir  George  Covert  rose  and  sauntered  over  to  my 
chair.  Under  cover  of  the  hubbub,  not  yet  subsided, 
he  said:  "I  fancy  you  will  shortly  require  a  discreet 
friend." 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  I  replied,  aloud.  "  If  the  war  spares 
Mr.  Butler  and  myself,  then  I  shall  call  on  you.  I've 
another  quarrel  first."  All  turned  to  look  at  me,  and 
I  added,  "A  quarrel  touching  the  liberties  of  English- 
men." Sir  John  Johnson  sneered,  and  it  was  hard  to 
s\v;ill<>\v,  beinir  the  s word-master  that  I  am. 

But  the  patroon  broke  out  furiously.  "  Mr.  Ormond 
honors  himself.  If  any  here  so  much  as  looks  the 
word  'coward/  he  will  answer  to  me — old  and  fat  as  I 
am!  I've  no  previous  engagement;  I  care  not  who 
prevails,  King  or  Congress.  I  care  nothing  so  they 
leave  me  my  own!  I'm  free  to  resent  a  word,  a  look, 
a  breath — ay,  the  flutter  of  a  lid,  Sir  John!" 

"Thanks,  uncle,"  I  said,  touched  to  the  quick. 
"  These  gentlemen  are  not  fools,  and  only  a  fool  could 
dream  an  Ormond  coward." 

"Ay,  a  fool!"  cried  Walter  Butler,  "I  am  an  Or- 
mond!  There  is  no  cowardice  in  the  blood.  He  shall 
have  his  own  time;  he  is  an  Ormond!" 

Dorothy  Varick  raised  her  bare,  white  arm  and 
pointed  straight  at  Walter  Butler.  "See  that  your 
sword  remains  unspotted,  sir,"  she  said,  in  a  clear 
voice.  "  For  if  you  hire  the  Iroquois  to  do  your  work 

8.3 


Till:    MAID-AT-ARM 

you  stand  dishonored,  and  no  true  man  will  meet  you 
on  the  field  you  forfeit  1" 

1  What's  that?"  cried  Sir  John,  astonished,  and  Sir 
George  Covert  cried : 

"Braval  Bravissiraa!  There  speaks  the  Ormond 
through  the  Varick!" 

Walter  Butler  leaned  forward,  staring  at  me.  "  You 
refuse  to  meet  me  if  I  use  our  Mohawk 

And  Dorothy,  her  voice  trembling  a  little,  picked  up 
the  word  from  his  grinning  teeth.     "Mohawks  in 
stand  the  word  'honor'  better  than  do  you,  Captain 
Butler,  if  you  are  found  fighting  in  their  ranks!" 

She  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm,  still  facing  him 

"My  cousin  shall  not  cross  blade  with  a  soiled 
blade!  He  dare  not — if  only  for  my  own  poor  honor's 
sake!" 

llun  Colonel  Claus  rose,  thumping  violently  on 
table,  and,  "  Here's  a  pretty  rumpus  I"  he  bawled, 
"\\ith  all  right  and  all  wrong,  and  nobody  to  snuff 
out  the  spreading  Same,  but  every  one  a-flinging  tal- 
low in  a  fire  we  all  may  rue!  My  Godl  Are  we  n-a 
all  kinsmen  here,  gathered  to  decent  council  how  best 
to  save  our  bai  m.s  pot  a-boiling  over?  If  Mr. 

Ormond  and  Captain  Butler  must  tickle  sword-points 
one  day,  that  is  no  cause  for  dolorous  looks  or  hot 
(Is — no!  Rather  is  it  a  family  trick,  a  good,  old- 
fashioned  game  that  all  boys  play,  and  no  harm,  cither. 
Have  I  not  played  it,  too?  Has  any  gentleman  pres- 
ent not  pinked  or  been  pinked  on  that  debatable  land 
we  call  the  field  of  honor?  Come,  kinsmen,  we  have 
all  had  too  much  wine — or  too  little." 

"Too  little!"  protested  Captain  Campbell,  with  a 
forced  laugh;  and  Betty  Austin  loosed  her  tongue  for 
the  first  time  to  cry  out  that  her  mouth  was  parched 
wi'  swallowing  so  many  words  all  piping-hot.  Whereat 
or  two  laughed,  and  Colonel  John  Butler  said . 


A    NIGHT   AT    THE    PATROON'S 

Neither  Mr.  Ormond  nor  Sir  George  Covert  are 
rebels.  They  differ  from  us  in  this  matter  touching 
on  the  Iroquois.  If  they  think  we  soil  our  hands  with 
war-paint,  let  them  keep  their  own  wristbands  clean, 
but  fight  for  their  King  as  sturdily  as  shall  we  this  time 
next  month." 

"That  is  a  very  pleasant  view  to  take,"  observed 
Sir  George,  with  a  smile. 

"  A  sensible  view,"  suggested  CampbelL 

"Amiable,"  said  Sir  George,  blandly. 

"Oh,  let  us  fill  to  the  family  1"  broke  in  McDonald, 
impatiently.  "It's  dry  work  cursing  your  friends  1 
Fill  up,  Campbell,  and  I'll  forget  Glencoe  .  .  .  while  I'm 
drinking." 

"Mr.  Ormond,"  said  Walter  Butler,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  I  cannot  credit  ill  of  a  man  of  your  name.  You  are 
young  and  hot  -  blooded,  and  you  perhaps  lack  as  yet 
a  capacity  for  reflection.  I  shall  look  for  you  among 
us  when  the  time  comes.  No  Ormond  can  desert  his 
King." 

"Let  it  rest  so,  Captain  Butler,"  I  said,  soberly.  "I 
will  say  this:  when  I  rose  I  had  not  meant  to  say  all 
that  I  said.  But  I  believe  it  to  be  the  truth,  though  I 
chose  the  wrong  moment  to  express  it  If  I  change 
this  belief  I  will  say  so." 

And  so  the  outburst  of  passion  sank  to  ashes ;  and 
if  the  fire  was  not  wholly  extinguished,  it  at  least  lay 
covered,  like  the  heart  of  a  Seminole  council-fire  after 
the  sachems  have  risen  and  departed  with  covered 
heads. 

Drinking  began  again.  The  ladies  gathered  in  a 
group,  whispering  and  laughing  their  relief  at  the 
turn  affairs  were  taking — all  save  Dorothy,  who  sat 
serenely  beside  me,  picking  the  kernels  from  walnut- 
shells  and  sipping  a  glass  of  port. 

Sir  John  Johnson  found  a  coal  in  the  embers  on  the 

8s 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

hearth,  and,  leaning  half  over  the  table,  began  to  draw 
on  the  table-cloth  a  rude  map  of  Tryon  County. 

"All   know,"  he   said,   "that   the  province   of   New 
York  is  the  key  to  the  rebel  strength.      While  they  hold 
West  Point  and  Albany  and  Stanwix,  they  hold  Ti 
County  by  the  throat.     Let  them  occupy  Philadelphia. 
Who  cares?    We  can  take  it  when   we  choose.     Let 
:i  hold  their  dirty  lioston;  let  the  rebel  Washiim- 
sneak  around  the  Jerseys.     Who  cares?    There  11 
be  the  finer  hunting  for  us  later.     Gentlemen,  as  you 
know,  the  invasion  of  New  York  is  at  hand — has  al- 
ready begun.     And  that's  no  secret  from  the  rebels, 
i -it her:  they  may  turn  and  twist  and  double  hen 
New  York  province,  but  they  can't  escape  the  trap, 
though  they  saw  it  long  ago." 
He  raised  his  head  and  glanced  at 
"  Here  is  a  triangle,"  he  said ;  "  that  triangle  is  New 
Here  is  Albany,  the  objective  of  our 
three  armies,  the  gate  of  Tryon  County,  the  plai 
spot  we  are  to  cleanse,  and  the  military  centre.     Now 
mark!  Burgoyne  moves  through  the  lakes,  south. 
ducing  Ticonderoga  and   Edward,  routing   the   i 
out  of  Saratoga,  and  approaches  Albany — so.     Clin- 
moves  i  -nLr  the  Hudson   to  meet  him — so 

re  ing  the  Highlands  at  Peekskill,   taking  West 
aving  it  for  later  punishment.     Nothing 
can  stop  him ;  he  meets  Burgoyne  here,  at  Alba 
Again  he  looked  at  me.     "You  see,  sir,  that  from 
angles  of  the  triangle  converging  armies  depart 
towards  a  common  objectiv 

aid. 

"Now,"  he  resumed,  "the  third  force,  und^r  Colonel 
Barry  St.  Leger — to  which  my  regiment  and  the  r 
ment  of  Colonel  Butler  have  the  honor  to  be  attai! 
— embarks  from  Canada,  sails  up  the  St.  Lawrei 
disembarks  at  Oswego,  on  Lake  Erie,  marches  straight 

86 


A    NIGHT    AT   THE    PATROON'S 

Cn  Stanwix,  reduces  it,  and  joins  the  armies  of  Clinton 
and  Burgoyne  at  Albany/' 

He  stood  up,  casting  his  bit  of  wood-coal  on  the  cloth 
before  him. 

"  That,  sir/'  he  said  to  me, "  is  the  plan  of  campaign, 
which  the  rebels  know  and  cannot  prevent.  That 
means  the  invasion  of  New  York,  the  scouring  out  of 
every  plague-spot,  the  capture  and  destruction  of  every 
rebel  between  Albany  and  the  Jerseys." 

He  turned  with  a  cold  smile  to  Colonel  Butler.  "  I 
think  my  estates  will  not  remain  long  in  rebel  hands," 
he  said. 

"Do  you  not  understand,  Mr.  Ormond?"  cried  Cap- 
tain Campbell,  twitching  me  by  the  sleeve,  an  im- 
pertinence 1  passed,  considering  him  overflushed  with 
wine.  "  Do  you  not  comprehend  how  hopeless  is  this 
rebellion  now?" 

"How  hopeless?"  drawled  Sir  George,  looking  over 
my  shoulder,  and,  as  though  by  accident,  drawing 
Campbell's  presumptuous  hand  through  his  own  arm. 

"How  hopeless?"  echoed  Campbell.  "Why,  here 
are  three  armies  of  his  Majesty's  troops  concentrating 
on  the  heart  of  Tryon  County.  What  can  the  rebels 
do?" 

"  The  patroons  are  with  us,  or  have  withdrawn  from 
the  contest,"  said  Sir  John;  "the  great  folk,  military 
men,  and  we  of  the  landed  gentry  are  for  the  King. 
What  remains  to  defy  his  authority?" 

"Of  what  kidney  are  these  Tryon  County  men?"  I 
asked,  quietly.  Sir  John  Johnson  misunderstood  me. 

"Mr.  Ormond,"  said  Sir  John,  "Tryon  County  is 
habited  by  four  races.  First,  the  Scotch-Irish,  many 
of  them  rebels,  I  admit,  but  many  also  loyal.  Bal- 
ance these  against  my  Highlanders,  and  cross  quits. 
Second,  the  Palatines  —  those  men  whose  ances- 
tors came  hither  to  escape  the  armies  of  Louis  XIV. 

87 


THE    MAID-AT-ARM^ 

when  they  devastated  the  Palatinate.  And  aj 
I  admit  these  to  be  rebels.  Third,  those  of  Dutch 
blood,  descended  from  brave  ancestors,  like  our  worthy 
patroon  here.  And  once  more  I  will  admit  that  many 
of  these  also  are  tainted  with  rebel  heresies.  Fourth, 
the  English,  three-quarters  of  whom  are  Tories.  And 
now  I  ask  you,  can  these  separate  handfuls  of  mixed 
descent  unite?  And,  if  that  were  possible,  can  they 
stand  for  one  day,  one  hour,  against  the  trained  troops 
of  England?" 

.od  knows,"  I  Mid. 


VI 

DAWN 

I  HAD  stepped  from  the  dining-hall  out  to  the  gun- 
room. Clocks  in  the  house  were  striking  midnight. 
In  the  dining-room  the  company  had  now  taken  to 
drinking  in  earnest,  cheering  and  singing  loyal  songs, 
and  through  the  open  door  whirled  gusts  of  women's 
laughter,  and  I  heard  the  thud  of  guitar-strings  echo 
the  song's  gay  words. 

All  was  cool  and  dark  in  the  body  of  the  house  as  I 
walked  to  the  front  door  and  opened  it  to  bathe  my 
face  in  the  freshening  night.  I  heard  the  whippoonvill 
in  the  thicket,  and  the  drumming  of  the  dew  on  the 
porch  roof,  and  far  away  a  sound  like  ocean  stirring — 
the  winds  in  the  pii. 

The  Maker  of  all  things  has  set  in  me  a  love  for  what- 
soever He  has  fashioned  in  His  handiwork,  whether 
it  be  furry  beast  or  pretty  bird,  or  a  spray  of  April  willow, 
or  the  tiny  insect-creature  that  pursues  its  dumb,  blind 
way  through  this  our  common  world.  So  come  I  by 
my  love  for  the  voices  of  the  night,  and  the  eyes  of  the 
stars,  and  the  whisper  of  growing  things,  and  the 
spice  in  the  air  where,  unseen,  a  million  tiny  blossoms 
hold  up  white  cups  for  dew,  or  for  the  misty-winged 
things  that  woo  them  for  their  honey. 

Now,  in  the  face  of  this  dark,  soothing  truce  that 
we  call  night,  which  is  a  buckler  interposed  between 
the  arrows  of  two  angry  suns,  I  stood  thinking  of  war 
and  the  wrong  of  it.  And  all  around  me  in  the  dark- 

89 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

ness  insects  sang,  and  delicate,  gauzy  creatures  chirked 
and  throbbed  and  strummed  in  cadence,  while  the  star's 
li^ht  faintly  silvered  the  still  trees,  and  distant  mono- 
tones of  the  forest  made  a  sustained  and  steady  rush- 
ing sound  like  the  settling  ebb  of  shallow  seas.  That 
to  my  conscience  I  stood  committed,  I  could  not  doubt. 
1  must  draw  sword,  and  draw  it  soon,  too — not  for 
Tory  or  rebel,  not  for  King  or  Congress,  not  for  my 
estates  nor  for  my  kin,  but  for  the  ancient  liberties  of 
Englishmen,  which  England  menaced  to  destroy. 

That  meant  time  lost  in  a  return  to  my  own  home; 
and  yet — why?  Here  in  this  county  of  Try  on  one 
might  stand  for  liberty  of  thought  and  action  as 
stanchly  as  at  home.  Here  was  a  people  with  no  tie 
or  sympathy  to  weld  them  save  that  common  love  of 
liberty — a  scattered  handful  of  races,  without  leaders, 
without  resources,  menaced  by  three  armies,  menaced 
by  the  five  nations  of  the  great  confederacy — the  Iro- 
quois. 

To  return  to  the  sea  islands  on  the  Halifax  and  figrtf 
f»r  THY  own  acres  was  useless  if  through  Nc\ 
the  British  armies  entered  to  the  heart  of  the  rehelliMM, 
splitting  the  thirteen  colonies  with  a  flaming  ifod 

At  home  I  had  no  kin  to  defend;  my  elder  hr 
had  sailed  to  England,  my  superintendent,  my  over* 
seers,  my  clerks  were  all  Tory;  my  slaves  would  join 
Minorcans  or  the  blacks  in  Georgia,  and  I,  single- 
handed,  could  not  lift  a  finger  to  restrain  them. 

But  here,  in  the  dire  need  of  Tryon  County,  I  lai^ht 
be  of  use.  Here  was  the  very  forefront  of  battle  where, 
beyond  the  horizon  ion,  uncoiling  hydra  folds, 

already  raised  three  horrid,  threatening  crests. 

Ugh!  —  the  butcher's  work  that  promised  if  the 
Iroquois  were  uncaged!  It  made  me  shudder,  fur  I 
knew  something  of  that  kind  of  war,  having  seen  a 
slight  sendee  against  the  Seminoles  in  my  seventeenth 

00 


DAWN 

year,  and  against  the  Chehaws  and  Tallassies  a  few 
months  later.  Also  in  November  of  1775  I  accom- 
panied Governor  Tonyn  to  Picolata,  but  when  I  learned 
that  our  mission  was  the  shameful  one  of  securing 
the  Indians  as  British  allies  I  resigned  my  captaincy 
in  the  Royal  Rangers  and  returned  to  the  Halifax  to 
wait  and  watch  events. 

And  now,  thoughtful,  sad,  wondering  a  little  how 
it  all  would  end,  I  paced  to  and  fro  across  the  porch. 
The  steady  patter  of  the  dew  was  like  the  long  roll 
beating  —  low,  incessant,  imperious  —  and  my  heart 
leaped  responsive  to  the  summons,  till  I  found  myself 
standing  rigid,  staring  into  the  darkness  with  fevered 
eyes. 

The  smothered,  double  drumming  of  a  guitar  from 
the  distant  revel  assailed  my  ears,  and  a  fresh,  sweet 
voice,  singing: 

*  As  at  my  door  I  chanced  to  be 
A-spinning, 

Spinning, 

A  grenadier  he  winked  at  me 
A-grinning, 

Grinning  I 

As  at  my  door  I  chanced  to  be 
A  grenadier  he  winked  at  me, 
And  now  my  song's  begun,  you  aec} 


'  My  grenadier  he  said  to  me, 
So  jolly, 
Jolly, 

'  We  tax  the  tea,  but  love  is  free. 
Sweet  Molly, 

Molly!' 

My  grenadier  he  said  to  me, 
'  We  tax  the  tea,  but  love  is  freeP 
And  so  my  song  it  ends,  you  sec, 
In  folly, 
Folly  I" 

91 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

I  listened  angrily;  the  voice  was  Dorothy  Varick's, 
and  I  wondered  that  she  had  the  heart  to  sing  such 
foolishness  for  men  whose  grip  was  already  on  her 
people's  throats. 

In  the  dining-hall  somebody  blew  the  view  1 
on  a  hunting-horn,  and  I  heard  cheers  and  the  dulled 
roar  of  a  chorus: 

**  —Rally  your  men  J 
Campbell  and  Cameron, 
\-hunting  gentlemen, 
Follow  the  Jacobite  back  to  his  deal 
Run  with  the  runaway  rogue  to  his  runway, 

Stolen  way  I 

Stole*  way  I 

Gallop  to  Galway. 

Back  to  Broadalbin  and  double  to  Perth ; 
Ridel  for  the  rebel  is  running  to  earth  I" 

And  the  shrill,  fierce  Highland  cry,  "Gralloch  lii 
echoed  the  infamous  catch,  till  the  night  air  rang  f  a  i  1 1 1 1  y 
in  the  starlight. 

"Cruuchan!"  shouted  Captain  Campbell;  "the  wild 
myrtle  to  clan  Campbell,  the  heather  to  the  McDonalds! 
An 't —  Arm,  chlanna !" 

And  a  great  shout  answered  him :  "  The  army !  Sons 
of  the  army  I" 

Sullen  and  troubled  and  restless,  I  paced  the  porch, 
and  at  length  sat  down  on  the  steps  to  cool  my  hot 
head  in  my  hands. 

And  as  I  sat,  there  came  my  cousin  Dorothy  to  the 
porch  to  look  for  me,  fanning  her  flushed  face  with  a 
great,  plumy  fan,  the  warm  odor  of  roses  still  clinging 
to  her  silken  skirts. 

ive  they  ended?"  I  asked,  none  too  gracioi 

"  They  are  beginning,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh,  then 
drew  a  deep  breath  and  waved  her  fan  slowly.  "  Ah, 
the  sweet  May  night!"  she  murmur^  ~ves  fixed  on 

92 


DAWN 

the  north  star.  "Can  you  believe  that  men  could 
dream  of  war  in  this  quiet  paradise  of  silence?" 

I  made  no  answer,  and  she  went  on,  fanning  her  hot 
cheeks:  "They're  off  to  Oswego  by  dawn,  the  whole 
company,  gallant  and  baggage/'  She  laughed  wick- 
edly. "I  don't  mean  their  ladies,  cousin." 

"  How  could  you?"  I  protested,  grimly. 

"Their  wagons/'  she  said,  "started  to-day  at  sun- 
down from  Tribes  Hill;  Sir  John,  the  Butlers,  and 
the  Glencoe  gentlemen  follow  at  dawn.  There  are 
post-chaises  for  the  ladies  out  yonder,  and  an  escort^ 
too.  But  nobody  would  stop  them ;  they're  as  safe  as 
Catrine  Montour." 

"Dorothy,  who  is  this  Catrine  Montour?"  I  asked. 

"A  woman,  cousin;  a  terrible  hag  who  runs  through 
ihe  woods,  and  none  dare  stop  her. 

"A  real  hag?    You  mean  a  ghost?" 

"No,  no;  a  real  hag,  with  black  locks  hanging,  and 
long  arms  that  could  choke  an  ox." 

"Why  does  she  run  through  the  woods?"  I  asked, 
amused. 

"Why?  Who  knows?  She  is  always  seen  run- 
ning." 

"  Where  does  she  run  to?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Once  Henry  Stoner,  the  huntei ,  fol- 
lowed her,  and  they  say  no  one  but  Jack  Mount  can 
outrun  him;  but  she  ran  and  ran,  and  he  after  her,  till 
the  day  fell  down,  and  he  fell  gasping  like  a  foundered 
horse.  But  she  ran  on." 

"Oh,  tally,"  I  said;  "do  you  believe  that?" 

"Why,  I  know  it  is  true,"  she  replied,  ceasing  her 
fanning  to  stare  at  me  with  calm,  wide  eyes.  "Dc 
you  doubt  it?" 

"  How  can  I  ?"  said  I,  laughing.  "  Who  is  this  busy 
hag,  Catrine  Montour?" 

"  They  say,"  said  Dorothy,  waving  her  fan  thought- 

93 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

fully,  "that  her  father  was  that  Count  Frontenac  who 
long  ago  governed  the  Canadas,  and  that  her  mother 
was  a  Huron  woman.  Many  believe  her  to  be  a  witch. 
1  don't  know.  Milk  curdles  in  the  jxins  when  she  is 
runnini:  through  the  forest  .  .  .  they  say.  Once  it 
rained  blood  on  our  front  porch. " 

"Those  red  drops  fall  from  flocks  of  butterflies,"  I 
said,  laughing.     "I  have  seen  red  showers  in  Flor- 

should  like  to  he  sure  of  that/'  said  Dorothy, 
musing.     Then,  raising  her  starry  eyes,  she  can 
me  laughing. 

"Tease  me,"  she  smiled.    "I  don't  care.    You  may 
even  make  love  to  m  choose." 

"Make  love  to  you!"  I  repeated,  reddening. 
"  \Vhynot?    It  amuses — and  you're  only  a  cou 
Astonishment  was  followed  by  annoyance  as 
coolly  disqualified  me  with  a  careless  wave  of  her  fan, 

the  word  "  cousin  "  into  my  very  teeth. 
"Suppose  I  paid  court  to  you  and  gained  your  af- 

1  said. 

You  have  them,"  she  replied,  serenely. 
'  I  mean  your  heart?" 

>u  have  it ." 
I  mean  your — love,  Dor< 

"Ah,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  smile,  "I  wish  you 
could — I  wish  somebody  could." 
I  was  silent 

"And  I  never  shall  bye;  1  know  it,  I  feel  it— h 
She  pressed  her  side  with  a  languid  sidi  that   : 
into  fits  o'  laughter  <1  my  n 

till  it  choked  me,  and  looked  at  the  sUu 

"Perhaps,"  said   I,  "the  gentle  passion  might  be 
awakened  with  patience  .  .  .  and  practice." 

he  said. 

"May  I  touch  your  hand?" 

94 


DAWN 

Indolently  fanning,  she  extended  her  fingers.  I  took 
them  in  my  hands. 

"I  am  about  to  begin/'  I  said. 

"Begin,"  she  said. 

So,  her  hand  resting  in  mine,  I  told  her  that  she 
had  robbed  the  skies  and  set  two  stars  in  violets  for 
her  eyes ;  that  nature's  one  miracle  was  wrought  when 
in  her  cheeks  roses  bloomed  beneath  the  snow;  that 
the  frosted  gold  she  called  her  hair  had  been  spun  from 
December  sunbeams,  and  that  her  voice  was  but  the 
melodies  stolen  from  breeze  and  brook  and  golden- 
throated  birds. 

"For  all  those  pretty  words,"  she  said,  "love  still 
lies  sleeping." 

"Perhaps  my  arm  around  your  waist — " 

"Perhaps." 

"So?" 

"Yes.0 

And,  after  a  silence: 

"Has  love  stirred?" 

"Love  sleeps  the  sounder." 

*  And  if  I  touched  your  lips?" 

"Best  not" 

"Why?" 

"I'm  sure  that  love  would  yawn.** 

Chilled,  for  unconsciously  I  had  begun  to  find  in 
this  child-play  an  interest  unexpected,  I  dropped  her 
unresisting  fingers. 

"Upon  my  word,"  I  said,  almost  irritably,  "I  can 
believe  you  when  you  say  you  never  mean  to  wed." 

"  But  I  don't  say  it,"  she  protested. 

"  What?    You  have  a  mind  to  wed?" 

"  Nor  did  I  say  that,  either,"  she  said,  laughing. 

"Then  what  the  deuce  do  you  say?" 

"Nothing,  unless  I'm  entreated  politely." 

"  I  entreat  you,  cousin,  most  politely,"  I  said. 

95 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"  Then  I  may  tell  you  that,  though  I  trouble  my  head 
nothing  as  to  wedlock,  I  am  betrothed." 

"Betrothed!"  I  repeated,  angrily  disapixrinUtl,  yet 
I  could  not  think  why. 

"Yes-  ,1." 

"To  whom?" 

"To  a  man,  silly." 

"Am;, 

"  With  two  legs,  two  arms,  and  a  head,  cousin. " 

"You  .  .  .  love  hi 

"No,"  she  said,  serenely.  "It's  only  to  wed  and 
settle  down  some  day." 

MI  don't  love  him?" 

"No,"  she  repeated,  a  trifle  impatiently. 

"And  you  mean  to  wed  him?" 

"Listen  to  the  boy!"  she  exclaimed.  "I've  told 
him  ten  times  that  I  am  betrothed,  which  means  a 
wedding.  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  break  paroles." 

"Oh  ...  you  are  now  free  on  par< 

"Prisoner  on  parole,"  she  said,  lightly.  "I'm  to 
name  the  day  of  punishment,  and  I  promise  you  it 
will  not  be  soon." 

"  Dorothy,"  I  said,  "  suppose  in  the  mean  time  you 

fell    in    1 

>,"  she  said,  sincerely. 

"But— but  what  would  you  do  then?" 

"Love,  sil 

"And  .  .  .  many?" 

"Marry  him  whom  I  have  promised n 
ut  you  would  be  wretched!" 

"  Why?    I  can't  fancy  wedding  one  I  love.     1  should 
be  ashamed,  I  think.     I— if  I  loved  I  should  not  v. 
the  man  I  loved  to  touch  me — not  with  gloves." 

"You  little  fool!"  1  said.  "You  don't  know  what 
you  say." 

"Yes,  I  do!"  she  cried,  hotly.     "Once  there  was  a 

96 


DAWN 

captain  from  Boston;   I  adored  him.     And  once  he 
kissed  my  hand  and  I  hated  him!" 

"I  wish  I'd  been  there/'  I  muttered. 

She,  waving  her  fan  to  and  fro,  continued :  "  I  often 
think  of  splendid  men,  and,  dreaming  in  the  sun- 
shine, sometimes  I  adore  them.  But  always  these 
day-dream  heroes  keep  their  distance;  and  we  talk 
and  talk,  and  plan  to  do  great  good  in  the  world,  until 
I  fall  a-napping.  .  .  .  Heigho!  I'm  yawning  now." 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  fan  and  leaned  back 
against  a  pillar,  crossing  her  feet.  "Tell  me  about 
London,"  she  said.  But  I  knew  no  more  than  she. 

"I'd  be  a  belle  there,"  she  observed.  "I'd  have 
a  train  o'  beaux  and  macaronis  at  my  heels,  I  war- 
rant you  I  The  f oppier,  the  more  it  would  please  me. 
Think,  cousin  —  ranks  of  them  all  a-simper,  ogling 
me  through  a  hundred  quizzing -glasses  I  Heigho! 
There's  doubtless  some  deviltry  in  me,  as  Sir  Lupus 
says." 

She  yawned  again,  looked  up  at  the  stars,  then  fell 
to  twisting  her  fan  with  idle  fingers. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said,  more  to  herself  than  to  me, 
"that  Sir  John  is  now  close  to  the  table's  edge,  and 
Colonel  Claus  is  under  it.  .  .  Hark  to  their  song,  all 
off  the  key!  But  who  cares?  ...  so  that  they  quarrel 
not.  .  .  .  Like  those  twin  brawlers  of  Glencoe, .  .  .  brood- 
ing on  feuds  nigh  a  hundred  years  old.  ...  I  have  no 
patience  with  a  brooder,  one  who  treasures  wrongs,  .  .  f 
like  Walter  Butler."  She  looked  up  at  me. 

"  I  warned  you,"  she  said. 

"  It  is  not  easy  to  avoid  insulting  him,"  1  replied. 

"  I  warned  you  of  that,  too.  Now  you've  a  quarrel, 
and  a  reckoning  in  prospect." 

"  The  reckoning  is  far  off,"  I  retorted,  ill-humoredly. 

"  Far  off — yes.    Further  away  than  you  know.    You 
will  never  cross  swords  with  Walter  Butler. " 
t  97 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"And  why  not?" 

"He  means  to  use  the  Iroquois." 

I   was  silent 

"For  the  honor  of  your  women,  you  cannot  fight 
such  a  man,"  she  added,  quietly 

"I  wish  I  had  the  right  to  protect  your  honor,"  I 
said,  so  suddenly  and  so  bitterly  that  I  surprised  my- 


"  Have  you  not?"  she  asked,  gravely.  "  1  am  your 
kinswoman." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  I  muttered,  and  fell  to  plucking 
at  the  lace  on  my  wristbands. 

The  dawn's  chill  was  in  the  air,  the  dawn's  sih 
too,  and  I  saw  the  calm  morning  star  on  the  horiion, 
watching  the  dark  world  —  the  dark,  sad  world,  1\ 
so  still,  so  patient,  under  the  ancient  sky. 

That  melancholy  —  whirh  is  an  omen,  too  —  left  me 
benumbed,  adrift  in  a  sort  of  pained  contentment 
whu-h  alternately  soothed  and  troubled,  so  that  at  mo- 
ments I  almost  drowsed,  and  at  moments  I  heard  my 
heart  stirring,  as  though  in  dull  expectancy  of  beati- 
tudes undreamed  of. 

Dorothy,  too,  sat  listless,  pensive,  and  in  her  eyes  a 
sombre  shadow,  such  as  falls  on  children's  eyes  at  mo- 
ments, leaving  their  elders  silent. 

Once  in  the  false  dawn  a  cock  crowed,  and  tin- 
shrill,  far  cry  left  the  raw  air  emptier  and  the  silence 
more  profound.  I  looked  wistfully  at  the  maid  beside 
me,  chary  of  intrusion  into  the  intimacy  of  her  silence. 
Presently  her  vague  eyes  met  mine,  and,  as  though 
I  had  spoken,  she  said:  "What  is  if" 

"Only  this     I  am  sorry  you  are  pledged." 
Why,  cousin 

"It  is  unfair." 

"To  wh< 

"To  you.     Bid  him  undo  it  and  release  you." 


DAWN 

"What  matters  it?"  she  said,  dully. 

"To  wed,  one  should  love,"  I  muttered. 

"I  cannot,"  she  answered,  without  moving.  "I 
would  I  could.  This  night  has  witched  me  to  wish  for 
love — to  desire  it;  and  1  sit  here  a-thinking,  a-thinkinc. 
...  If  love  ever  came  to  me  1  should  think  it  would 
come  now — ere  the  dawn;  here,  where  all  is  so  dark 
and  quiet  and  close  to  God.  .  .  .  Cousin,  this  night,  Tor 
the  first  moment  in  all  my  life,  I  have  desired  love." 

"To  beloved?" 

"No,...  to  love." 

I  do  not  know  how  long  our  silence  lasted ;  the  faint- 
est hint  of  silver  touched  the  sky  above  the  eastern  for* 
est;  a  bird  awoke,  sleepily  twit  luring;  another  piped 
out  fresh  and  clear,  another,  another;  and,  as  the  pallid 
tint  spread  in  the  east,  all  the  woodlands  burst  out 
ringing  into  song. 

In  the  house  a  door  opened  and  a  hoarse  voice  mut- 
tered thickly.  Dorothy  paid  no  heed,  but  I  rose  and 
stepped  into  the  hallway,  where  servants  were  guiding 
the  patroon  to  bed,  and  a  man  hung  to  the  bronze- 
cannon  post,  swaying  and  mumbling  threats — Colonel 
Claus,  wig  awry,  stock  unbuckled,  and  one  shoe  gone. 
Faugh!  the  stale,  sour  air  sickened  me. 

Then  a  company  of  gentlemen  issued  from  the  din- 
ing-hall,  and,  as  I  stepped  back  to  the  porch  to  give 
them  room,  their  gray  faces  were  turned  to  me  with 
meaningless  smiles  or  blank  inquiry. 

"  Where's  my  orderly?"  hiccoughed  Sir  John  John- 
son. "Here,  you,  call  my  rascals;  get  the  chaises  up! 
Dammy,  I  want  my  post-chaise,  d'  ye  hear?" 

Captain  Campbell  stumbled  out  to  the  lawn  and 
Jumbled  about  his  lips  with  a  whistle,  which  he  finally 
succeeded  in  blowing.  This  accomplished,  he  gravely 
examined  the  sky. 

"There  they  are,"  said  Dorothy,  quietly;  and  I  saw, 

99 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

the  dim  morning  light,  a  dozen  horsemen  stirring 
in  the  shadows  of  the  stockade.  And  present Iv  Un- 
horses were  brought  up,  followed  by  two  post-chaises, 
with  sleepy  post-boys  sitting  their  saddles  and  men 
afoot  trailing  rifles. 

Colonel  Butler  came  out  of  the  door  with  Magdalen 
Brant,  who  was  half  a  id  aided  her  to  a  cha 

Guy  Johnson  followed  with  Betty  Austin,  his  arm 
around  her,  and  climbed  in  after  her.  Then  Sir  John 
brought  Claire  Putnam  to  the  other  chaise,  entering 
it  himself  behind  her.  And  the  post-boys  wheeled 
their  horses  out  through  the  stockade,  followed  at  a 
gallop  by  the  shadowy  horsemen. 

And  now  the  Butlers,  father  and  son,  set  toe  to  stir- 
rup; and  I  saw  Walter  Butler  kick  the  servant  who 
held  his  stirrup— why,  I  do  not  know,  unless  the  poor, 
tired  fellow's  hands  shook. 

Up  into  their  saddles  popped  the  Glencoe  captains ; 
thm  Campbell  swore  an  oath  and  dismounted  to  look 
for  Colonel  Claus;  and  presently  two  blacks  carried 
him  nut  and  set  him  in  Ins  saddle,  which  he  clung  to, 
swaying  like  a  ship  in  distress,  his  ridnn: -hnots  slung 
md  his  neck,  stockinged  toes  clutching  the  stirrups. 

Away  they  went,  followed  at  a  trot  by  the  armed 
men  on  foot:  fainter  and  fainter  sounded  the  clink, 
clink  of  their  horses'  hoofs,  then  died  away. 

he  silence,  the  east  reddened  to  a  flame  tin 
turned  to  the  open  do<  Dorothy  was  gone,  but 

old  Cato  stood  there,  withered  hands  clasped,  peace- 
ful eyes  on  me. 

"Mawnin',  suh,"  he  said,  sweet  "Yaas,  sun, 
de  night  done  gone  and  de  sun  mos'  up.  1 1 'it  dat-a- 
way.  Mars'  George,  suh,  h'it  jess  natch 'ly  dat-a-way 
in  dishyere  world  —  day,  night,  mo'  day.  What  de 
Bible  say?  Life,  def,  mo'  life,  suh.  When  we's  daid 
we'll  sho'  find  it  dat-a-way." 

100 


VII 

AFTERMATH 

CATO  at  my  bedside  with  basin,  towel,  and  razor, 
a  tub  of  water  on  the  floor,  and  the  sun  shining 
on  my  chamber  wall.     These,  and  a  stale  taste  on  my 
tongue,  greeted  me  as  I  awoke. 

First  to  wash  teeth  and  mouth  with  orris,  then  to 
bathe,  half  asleep  still;  and  yet  again  to  lie  a-think- 
ing  in  my  arm-chair,  robed  in  a  banyan,  cheeks  all 
suds  and  nose  sniffing  the  scented  water  in  the  chin- 
basin  which  I  held  none  too  steady ;  and  I  said,  peevish- 
ly, "What  a  fool  a  man  is  to  play  the  fool!  Do  you 
hear  me,  Cato?" 

He  said  that  he  marked  my  words,  and  I  bade  him 
hold  his  tongue  and  tell  me  the  hour. 

"Nine,  suh." 

"Then  I'll  sleep  again,"  I  muttered,  but  could  not, 
and  after  the  morning  draught  felt  better.  Choco- 
late and  bread,  new  butter  and  new  eggs,  put  me  in  a 
kinder  humor.  Cato,  burrowing  in  my  boxes,  drew 
out  a  soft,  new  suit  of  doeskin  with  new  points,  new 
girdle,  and  new  moccasins. 

"Oh,"  said  I,  watching  him,  "am  I  to  go  forest- 
running  to-day?" 

"Mars'  Varick  gwine  ride  de  boun's,"he  announced, 
cheerfully. 

"Ride  to  hounds?"  I  repeated,  astonished.  "In 
May?" 

"No,  suh!     Ride  de  boun's,  suh." 
101 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 
"Oh,  ride  the  boundaries?" 

"Oh,  i  1.     Whi.t  time  docs  he  start 

£  'Bin::  vjh." 

old  man  strove  to  straighten  my  short  queue, 
but  found  it  hopeless,  so  tied  it  close  and  dusted  <»n 
the  French  powder. 

"Curly  head,  curly  head,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 
"Dess  lak  yo'  pap's!  .  .  .  an'  Miss  Dorry's.     ! 
sakes,  dishyere  hair  wuf  mo'n  eight  dollar." 

•u  think  my  hair  worth  more  than  eight  doll 
I  asked,  amused. 

"I  Tit  sholyam,  suh." 
"But  why  eight  dollars,  C 
"Das  what  the  redcoats  say;  eight  dollars  fo 
rebel  scalp,  suh/' 

I  sat  up,  horrified.     "Who  told  you  that?"  I  de- 
manded. 
"  All  de  gemmen  done  say  so — Mars'  Varick,  Mars9 

Uip'm   Hut! 

"  Bah!  they  said  it  to  plague  you,  Cato,"  I  muttered  ; 
but  as  I  said  it  I  saw  the  «•!«!  slave's  eyes  and  knew 
that  he  had  told  the  truth 

Sobered,  I  dressed  me  in  my  forest  dress,  absently 
ni:  the  hunt  t  and  tying  knee-point 

«»ld  man  polished  hatchet  and   knife  and  slipjK-d 
them  into  the  beaded  scabbards  swinging  on  eitlur 

Then  I  went  out,  noiselessly  descending  the  stair- 
way, and  came  all  unawares  upon  the  young  folk  and 
the  children  gathered  on  the  sunny  porch,  busy  with 
their  morning  tasks. 

They  neither  saw  nor  heard  me;  I  leaned  ag, 
the  doorway  to  see  the  pretty  picture  at  my  ease.     The 
children,  Sam  and  Benny,  sat  all  hunched  up,  scowl 
ing  over  their  books. 

102 


AFTERMATH 

Close  to  a  fluted  pillar,  Dorothy  Varick  reclined  in  a 
chair,  embroidering  her  initials  on  a  pair  of  white  silk 
hose,  using  the  Rosemary  stitch.  And  as  her  delicate 
fingers  flew,  her  gold  thimble  flashed  like  a  fire-fly  in 
the  sun. 

At  her  feet,  cross-legged,  sat  Cecile  Butler,  velvet 
eyes  intent  on  a  silken  petticoat  which  she  was  em- 
broidering with  pale  sprays  of  flowers. 

Kuyven  and  Harry,  near  by,  dipped  their  brushes 
into  pans  of  brilliant  French  colors,  the  one  to  paint 
marvellous  birds  on  a  silken  fan,  the  other  to  decorate 
a  pair  of  white  satin  shoes  with  little  pink  blossoms 
nodding  on  a  vine. 

Loath  to  disturb  them,  I  stood  smiling,  silent;  and 
presently  Dorothy,  without  raising  her  eyes,  called 
on  Samuel  to  read  his  morning  lesson,  and  he  began, 
breathing  heavily: 

"  I  know  that  God  is  wroth  at  me 

For  I  was  born  in  sin  ; 
My  heart  is  so  exceeding  vile 

Damnation  dwells  therein ; 
Awake  I  sin,  asleep  I  sin, 

I  sin  with  every  breath, 
When  Adam  fell  he  went  to  hell 

And  damned  us  all  to  death!" 

He  stopped  short,  scowling,  partly  from  fright,  I  think. 

"That  teaches  us  to  obey  God, "said  Ruyven, severe- 
ly, dipping  his  brush  into  the  pink  paint-cake. 

"What's  the  good  of  obeying  God  if  we're  all  to  go 
to  hell?"  asked  Cecile. 

"We're  not  all  going  to  hell,"  said  Dorothy,  calmly. 
"God  saves  His  elect." 

"Who  are  the  elect?"  demanded  Samuel,  faintly 
hopeful. 

"Nobody  knows,"  replied  Cecile,  grimly;  "but  I 
guess — " 

103 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"Benny/'  broke  in  Dorothy,  "read  your  lesson! 
Cecile,  stop  your  chatter!"  And  Benny,  cheerful  and 
sceptical,  read  his  lines: 

'  When  by  thpcctators  I  behold 

What  beauty  doth  adorn  me. 
Or  in  a  glath  when  I  behold 

How  thweetly  God  did  form  me. 
Hath  God  thuch  comeliness  bethowed 

And  on  me  made  to  dwell? — 
What  pity  thuch  a  pretty  maid 

Ath    1    thoiul    k'o   to    h 

And  Benny  giggled. 

"Benjamin,"  &  le,  in  an  awful  voice,  "are 

you  not  terrified  at  what  you  read?" 

Huh!"  said  Benny,  "I'm  not  a  'pretty  maid';  I'm 
a  boy." 

s  all  the  same,  little  dunce!'1  insisted  G 

"  Doeth  God  thay  little  boyth  are  born  to  be  damned?" 
he  asked,  unea> 

"No,  no,"  interrupted  Dorothy;  "God  saves  His 
elect,  1  ti  11  you.  Don't  you  remember  what  He  says? 

"  '  You  sinners  are,  and  such  a  share 

As  sinners  may  expect ; 
Such  you  shall  have;  for  I  do  aa*t 
None  but  my  own  eK 

And  you  see/'  she  added,  confidently  I  think  we  all 
are  elect,  and  there's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  Benny, 
stop  sniffing!" 

"Are  you  tsked  Cecile,  gloomily. 

Dorothy,  stitching  serenely,  answered :  "I  am  sure 
God  is  fair." 

"Oh,  everybody  knows  that,"  observed  Cecile.  "What 
we  want  to  know  is,  \\hat  does  He  mean  to  do  with 
us." 

"If  we're  good,"  added  Samuel,  fervently. 

104 


AFTERMATH 

"He  will  damn  us,  perhaps/'  said  Ruyven,  sucking 
his  paint-brush  and  looking  critically  at  his  work. 

"Damn  us?  Why?"  inquired  Dorothy,  raising  her 
eyes. 

"Oh,  for  all  that  sin  we  were  born  in/'  said  Ruyven, 
absently. 

"But  that's  not  fair/'  said  Dorothy. 

"Are  you  smarter  than  a  clergyman?"  sneered 
Ruyven 

Dorothy  spread  the  white  silk  stocking  over  one  knee. 
"I  don't  know/'  she  sighed,  "sometimes  I  think  I 
am/' 

"Pride,"  commented  Cecile,  complacently.  "Pride 
is  sin,  so  there  you  are,  Dorothy/' 

"There  you  are,  Dorothy!"  said  I,  laughing  from 
the  doorway;  and,  "Oh,  Cousin  Ormond!"  they  all 
chorused,  scrambling  up  to  greet  me. 

"Have  a  care!"  cried  Dorothy.  "That  is  my  wed- 
ding petticoat!  Oh,  he's  slopped  water  on  it!  Benny, 
you  dreadful  villain! '' 

"No,  he  hasn't,"  said  I,  coming  out  to  greet  her  and 
Cecile,  with  Samuel  and  Benny  hanging  to  my  belt, 
and  Harry  fast  hold  of  one  arm.  "And  what's  all 
this  about  wedding  finery?  Is  there  a  bride  in  this 
vicinity?" 

Dorothy  held  out  a  stocking.  "  A  bride's  white  silk- 
en hose,"  she  said,  complacently. 

"  Embroidered  on  the  knee  with  the  bride's  initials/' 
added  Cecile,  proudly. 

"Yours,  Dorothy?"  I  demanded. 

"  Yes,  but  I  shall  not  wear  them  for  ages  and  ages. 
I  told  you  so  last  night." 

"But  I  thought  Dorothy  had  best  make  ready," 
remarked  Cwle.  "Dorothy  is  to  carry  that  fan  and 
«rear  those  slippers  and  this  petticoat  and  the  white 
silk  stockings  when  she  weds  Sir  George." 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"Sir  George  who?"  I  asked,  bluntly. 

"Why,  Sir  George  Covert     Didn't  you  knmv?" 
>ked  at  Dorothy,  incensed  without  a  reason. 

'    \Vliy  didn't  you  tell  me?"  I  asked,  ungraciou 

"Why  didn't  you  ask  me?"  she  replied,  a  trifle  hurt 

I    was  silent. 

Cecile  said:  "I  hope  that  Dorothy  will  marry  him 
soon.  I  want  to  see  ho  AT  she  looks  in  this  petticoat." 

"Ho!"  sneered  Harry,  "you  just  want  to  wear  one 
like  it  and  be  a  bridesmaid  and  primp  and  give  yourself 
airs.  I  know  you  I" 

"Sir  George  Covert  is  a  good  fellow,"  remarked 
Ruyven,  with  a  jwiironi/ing  nod  at  Dorothy;  "hut  I 
always  said  he  was  too  old  for  you.  You  should  see 
how  gray  are  his  temples  when  he  wears  no  powd< 

"  I  le  has  fine  eyes,"  murmured  Cecile. 
I  le's  too  old;  he's  forty,"  repeated  Ruyven. 
I  legs  are  shapely/'  added  Cecile,  sentimentally. 

Dorothy  gave  a  despairing  upward  glance  at 
"Are  these  children  not  silly ?if  she  said,  with  a  !r 
shrug. 

We  may  be  children,  and  we  may  be  silly,"  said 
Ruyven,  "but  if  we  were  you  we'd  wed  our  con 
Ormond." 

"  All  of  you  together?"  inquired  Dorothy. 
Y    i  know  what  I  mean/'  he  snapped. 

hy    don't    you?"    demanded    Harry,    vaguely, 
twitching  Dorothy  by  the  apron. 

"Do  what?" 

"Wed  our  cousin  Ormond." 

"But  he  has  not  asked  me,"  she  said,  smiling. 

Harry  turned  to  me  and  took  my  arm  affectionately 
in  his. 

"  You  will  ask  her.  won't  you?"  he  murmured.  "  She's 
very  nice  when  she  chooses." 

"She  wouldn't  have  me,"  I  said,  laughing. 

1 06 


AFTERMATH 

"Oh  yes,  she  would;  and  then  you  need  never  leave 
us,  which  would  be  pleasant  for  all,  I  think.  Won't 
you  ask  her,  cousin?" 

"  You  ask  her/'  I  said. 

"Dorothy/'  he  broke  out,  eagerly.  "You  will  wed 
him,  won't  you?  Our  cousin  Orraond  says  he  will  if 
you  will.  And  I'll  tell  Sir  George  that  it's  just  a  fam- 
ily matter,  and,  besides,  he's  too  old — " 

"Yes,  tell  Sir  George  that,"  sneered  Ruyven,  who 
had  listened  in  an  embarrassment  that  certainly  Doro- 
thy had  not  betrayed.  "You're  a  great  fool,  Harry. 
Don't  you  know  that  when  people  want  to  wed  they 
ask  each  other's  permission  to  ask  each  other's  father, 
and  then  their  fathers  ask  each  other,  and  then  they 
ask  each — " 

"  Other ! "  cried  Dorothy,  laughing  deliciously.  "  Oh, 
Ruyven,  Ruyven,  you  certainly  will  be  the  death  of 
me!" 

"  All  the  same,"  said  Harry,  sullenly,  "  our  cousin 
wishes  to  wed  you." 

"Do  you?"  asked  Dorothy,  raising  her  amused  eyes 
to  me. 

"  I  fear  I  come  too  late,"  I  said,  forcing  a  smile  I  was 
not  inclined  to. 

"Ah,  yes;  too  late,"  she  sighed,  pretending  a  dole* 
ful  mien. 

"Why?"  demanded  Harry,  blankly. 

Dorothy  shook  her  head.  "  Sir  George  would  never 
permit  me  such  a  liberty.  If  he  would,  our  cousin 
Ormond  and  I  could  wed  at  once;  you  see  I  have  my 
bride's  stockings  here;  Cecile  could  do  my  hair,  Sam- 
my carry  my  prayer-book,  Benny  my  train,  Ruyven 
read  the  service — " 

Harry,  flushing  at  the  shout  of  laughter,  gave  Doro- 
thy a  dark  look,  turned  and  eyed  me,  then  scowled 
again  at  Dorothy. 

107 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"All  the  same,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  you  're  a  great 
goose  not  to  wed  him.  .  .  .  And  you'll  be  sorry  .  .  . 
when  he's  dead!" 

At  this  veiled  prophecy  of  my  approaching  disso- 
lution, all  were  silent  save  Dorothy  and  Ruyven,  whose 
fresh  laughter  rang  out  peal  on  peal. 

"Laugh/*  said  Harry,  gloomily;  "but  3*ou  won't 
laugh  when  he's  killed  in  tlu  war,  .  .  .  and  scalped, 
too." 

Ruyven,  suddenly  sober,  looked  up  at  me.    Doro- 
thy bent  over  her  needle-work  and  examined  it  at: 
tm 

"  Arc  you  going  to  the  war?"  asked  Cecile,  plain- 
tively. 

"Of  course  he's  going;  so  am  I,"  replied  Ruyven, 
striking  a  careless  pose  against  a  pillar. 

"On  which  ride,  Ruyven?"  inquired  Dorothy,  sort- 
ing her  silks. 

•  my  cousin's  side,  of  course,"  he  said,  uneasily. 

"Which  side  is  that?"  asked  Cecile. 

Confused,  flushing  painfully,  the  boy  looked  at 
me;  and  I  rescued  him,  saying,  "We'll  talk  that  over 
when  we  ride  bounds  this  afternoon.  Ruyven  and  I 
understand  each  ether,  don't  we,  Ruyven?" 

He  gave  me  a  grateful  glance.  "Yes/'  he  said, 
shyly. 

Sir  George  Covert,  a  trifle  pallid,  but  bland  and 
urbane,  strolled  out  to  the  porch,  saluting  us  gracef  u 
He  paused  beside  Dorothy,  who  slipped  her  needle 
through  her  work  and  held  out  her  hand  for  him  to 
salute. 

"Are  you  also  going  to  the  wars?"  she  asked,  \vith 
)  friendly  sn 

"Where  are  they?"  he  inquired,  pretending  a  fierce 
eagerness.  "Point  out  some  wars  and  111  go  to  Vm 
post  haste!" 

108 


AFTERMATH 

"  They're  all  around  us,"  said  Sammy,  solemnly. 

"Then  we'd  best  get  to  horse  and  lose  no  time,  Mr. 
Ormond,"  he  observed,  passing  his  arm  through  mine. 
In  a  lower  voice  he  added:  " Headache?" 

"  Oh  no/'  I  said,  hastily. 

"Lucky  dog.  Sir  Lupus  lies  as  though  struck  by 
lightning.  I'm  all  a-quiver,  too.  A  man  of  my  years 
is  a  fool  to  do  such  things.  But  I  do,  Ormond,  I  do ; 
ass  that  I  am.  Do  you  ride  bounds  with  Sir  Lupus?" 

"  If  he  desires  it,"  I  said. 

"Then  Til  see  you  when  you  pass  my  villa  on  the 
Vlaie,  where  you'll  find  a  glass  of  wine  waiting.  Do 
you  ride,  Miss  Dorothy?" 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

A  stable  lad  brought  his  horse  to  the  porch.  He 
took  leave  of  Dorothy  with  a  grace  that  charmed  even 
me;  yet,  in  his  bearing  towards  her  I  could  detect  the 
tender  pride  he  had  in  her,  and  that  left  me  cold  and 
thoughtful. 

All  liked  him,  though  none  appeared  to  regard  him 
exactly  as  a  kinsman,  nor  accorded  him  that  vague 
shade  of  intimacy  which  is  felt  in  kinship,  not  in  com- 
radeship alone,  and  which  they  already  accorded  me. 

Dorothy  walked  with  him  to  the  stockade  gate,  the 
stable  lad  following  with  his  horse;  and  I  saw  them 
stand  there  in  low-voiced  conversation,  he  lounging 
and  switching  at  the  weeds  with  his  riding-crop;  she, 
head  bent,  turning  the  gold  thimble  over  and  over  be- 
tween her  fingers.  And  I  wondered  what  they  were 
saying. 

Presently  he  mounted  and  rode  away,  a  graceful, 
manly  figure  in  the  saddle,  and  not  turning  like  a 
fop  to  blow  a  kiss  at  his  betrothed,  nor  spurring  his 
horse  to  show  his  skill  —  for  which  I  coldly  respected 
him. 

Harry,  Cecile,  and  the  children  gathered  their  paint? 
109 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

and  books  and  went  into  the  house,  demanding  that 
I  should  follow. 

"Dorothy    is    beckoning    us/'    observed    Ruyven, 
^atlKTiiiLT  up  his  paints. 

I  looked  towards  her  and  she  raised  her  hand,  mo- 
nir  us  to  come. 

"About  father's  watch,"  she  said.     "I  have  just 
consulted  Sir  George,  and  he  says  that  neither  I  nor 
Ruyven  have  won,  seeing  that  Ruyven  used  the  i 
he  did—" 

4  \  erf  ried  Ruj'ven,  triumphantly.     "Then 

let  us  match  dates  again.     Have  you  a  shilling.  Cousin 
OnnoodT" 

41  I'll  throw  hunting-knives  for  it/'  suggested  Doro- 
thy. 

"Oh  no,  you  won't,"  retorted  her  brother,  warily. 

•  Then  I'll  race  you  to  the  porch." 

Ik  shook  his  head. 

She  1  auLhcd  tauntingly. 

i  not  afraid/'  said  Ruyven,  reddening  and  glanc- 
ing at  me. 

ben  I'll  wrestle  you." 

MR  by  the  malice  in  her  smile,  Ruyven  seized 

"No,  no!    Not  in  these  clothes!"  she  said,  i\\\ 
to  free  herself.     "  I   put  on  my  bucksk 

Don't  use  me  so  roughly,  y<»u  tear  my  laced  apron. 
Oh!  you  great  booby!"    And  with  a  quick  cry  of 
sentment  she  bent,  caught  her  brother,  and  swum/ 
him  off  his  feet  clean  over  her  left  shoulder  slap  on  the 
prass. 

"Silly!"  she  said,  cheeks  aflame.     "I  have  no  pa- 
tience to  be  mauled."    Then  she  laughed  uno 
to  see  him  lying  there,  too  astonished  to  get  up. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  she  asked. 

"Who  taught  you  that  hold?"  he  demanded,  indig 
no 


AFTERMATH 

nantly,  scrambling  to  his  feet.     "I  thought  I  alone 
knew  that." 

"  Why,  Captain  Campbell  taught  you  last  week  and 
...  I  was  at  the  window . . .  sewing,"  she  said,  demurely. 

Ruyven  looked  at  me,  disgusted,  muttering,  "  If  I 
could  learn  things  the  way  she  does,  I'd  not  waste 
time  at  King's  College,  I  can  tell  you." 

"You're  not  going  to  King's  College,  anyhow," 
said  his  sister.  "  York  is  full  o'  loyal  rebels  and  Tory 
patriots,  and  father  says  he'll  be  damned  if  you  can 
learn  logic  where  all  lack  it." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  smiling.  "  No  malice,  Ruy- 
ven, and  we'll  forgive  each  other." 

Her  brother  met  the  clasp  ;  then,  hands  in  his 
pockets,  followed  us  back  through  the  stockade  towards 
the  porch.  I  was  pleased  to  see  that  his  pride  had 
suffered  no  more  than  his  body  from  the  fall  he  got, 
which  augured  well  for  a  fair-minded  manhood. 

As  we  approached  the  house  I  heard  hollow  noises 
within,  like  groans;  and  I  stopped,  listening  intently. 

"  It  is  Sir  Lupus  snoring,"  observed  Ruyven.  "  He 
will  wake  soon ;  I  think  I  had  best  call  Tulip,"  he 
added,  exchanging  a  glance  with  his  sister;  and  en- 
tered the  house  calling,  "Cato!  Cato!  Tulip  1  Tulip!  I 
say!" 

"Who  is  Tulip?"  I  asked  of  Dorothy,  who  lingered 
at  the  threshold  folding  her  embroidery  into  a  bundle. 

"  Tulip?  Oh,  Tulip  cooks  for  us— black  as  a  June 
crow,  cousin.  She  is  voodoo." 

"Evil-eye  and  all?"  I  asked,  smiling. 

Dorothy  looked  up  shyly.  "Don't  you  believe  in 
the  evil-eye?" 

I  was  not  perfectly  sure  whether  I  did  or  not,  but  I 
said  "No." 

"To  believe  is  not  necessarily  to  be  afraid,"  she 
added,  quickly 

III 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Now,  had  I  believed  in  the  voodoo  craft,  or  in  the 
power  of  an  evil-eye,  I  should  also  have  feared.  Those 

10  have  ever  witnessed  a  sea-island  witch-dance 
bear  me  out,  and  I  think  a  man  may  dread  a  hag  and 
be  no  coward  either.  But  distance  and  time  allay 
tlu  memories  of  such  uncanny  works  I  had  forgotten 
whether  I  was  afraid  or  not.  So  I  said, "  There  are  no 
witches,  Dorothy." 

She  looked  at  me,  dreamily.  "  There  are  none  .  .  . 
that  I  fear." 

"Not  even  Catrine  Montour?"  I  asked,  to  plague 
her. 

" No;  it  turns  me  cold  to  think  of  her  running  in  the 
fore  i  am  not 

She  stood  pensive  in  the  doorway,  rolling  and  un- 
rolling her  embroidery.  Harry  and  Cecile  came  out, 
flourishing  alder  poles  from  \vlm  h  lines  and  hooks 
dangled.  Samuel  and  Benny  carried  birchen  baskets 
and  shallow  m  < 

"If  were  to  have  Mohawk  chubbs,"  said  Cecile, 
"you  had  best  come  with  us,  Domthv.  Ruyven  has 
a  book  and  has  locked  himself  in  the  play-room." 

But  Dorothy  shook  her  head,  say  mi;  tliat  she  meant 
to  ride  the  boundary  wuh  us;  and  the  children,  after 
vainly  soliciting  my  company,  trooped  off  towards  that 
same  grist-np.ll  in  the  ravine  below  the  bridge  which 
I  had  observed  on  my  first  arrival  at  Varick  Manor. 

"I  am  wondering/'  said  Dorothy,  "how  you  mean 
to  pass  the  morning.     You  had  best  steer  wide  of  Sir 
M  until  lie  has  breakfa 
I've  a  mind  to  sleep,"  I  said,  guiltily. 

4  I  think  it  would  be  pleasant  to  ride  (OL  Will 

you?"  she  asked;  then,  laughing,  she  said,  frankly 
"  Since  you  have  come  I  do  nothing  but  follow  you. 
It  is  long  since  !  have  had  a  young  companion, 
and,  when  I  think  that  you  are  to  leave  us,  it  spurs  me 

112 


AFTERMATH 

to  lose  no  moment  that  I  shall  regret  when  you  are 
gone/' 

No  shyness  marred  the  pretty  declaration  of  her 
friendship,  and  it  touched  me  the  more  keenly  perhaps. 
The  confidence  in  her  eyes,  lifted  so  sweetly,  waked 
the  best  in  me;  and  if  my  response  was  stumbling,  it 
was  eager  and  warm,  and  seemed  to  please  her. 

"Tulip!  Tulip!"  she  cried,  "I  want  my  dinner! 
Now  I "  And  to  me,  "  We  will  eat  what  they  give  us  ; 
I  shall  dress  in  my  buckskins  and  we  will  ride  the 
boundary  and  register  the  signs,  and  Sir  Lupus  and 
the  others  can  meet  us  at  Sir  George  Covert's  pleasure- 
house  on  the  Vlaie.  Does  it  please  you,Cousin  George?" 

I  looked  into  her  bright  eyes  and  said  that  it  pleased 
me  more  than  I  dared  say,  and  she  laughed  and  ran 
up-stairs,  calling  back  to  me  that  I  should  order  our 
horses  and  tell  Cato  to  tell  Tulip  to  fetch  meat  and 
claret  to  the  gun-room. 

I  whistled  a  small,  black  stable  lad  and  bade  him 
bring  our  mounts  to  the  porch,  then  wandered  at  ran- 
dom down  the  hallway,  following  my  nose,  which 
scented  the  kitchen,  until  I  came  to  a  closed  door. 

Behind  that  door  meats  were  cooking — I  could  take 
my  oath  o'  that — so  I  opened  the  door  and  poked  my 
nose  in. 

"Tulip,"  I  said,  "come  here!" 

An  ample  black  woman,  aproned  and  turbaned,  look- 
ed at  me  through  the  steam  of  many  kettles,  turned  and 
cuffed  the  lad  at  the  spit,  dealt  a  few  buffets  among 
the  scullions,  and  waddled  up  to  me,  bobbing  and 
courtesying. 

"Aunt  Tulip,"  I  said,  gravely,  "are  you  voodoo?" 

"Folks  says  ah  is,  Mars'  Ormon',"  she  said,  in  her 
soft  Georgia  accent. 

"Oh,  they  do,  do  they?    Look  at  me,  Aunt  Tulip. 
What  do  my  eyes  tell  you  of  me?" 
*  113 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Her  dark  eyes,  fixed  on  mine,  seemed  to  change, 
and  I  thought  little  glimmers  of  pure  gold  tinted  the 
ins,  like  those  marvellous  restless  tints  in  a  gorgeous 
bubble.  Certainly  her  eyes  were  strange,  almost  c« 
pellinc,  for  I  felt  a  faint  rigidity  in  my  cheeks  and 
my  eyes  returned  directly  to  hers  as  at  an  unspoken 
command. 

"Can  you  read  me,  aunty?"  I  asked,  trying  to  speak 
easily,  yet  feeling  the  stiffness  growing  in  my  cheeks. 

"Ah  sho'  can,"  she  said,  stepping  nearer. 
What  is  my  fate,  th 

"Ah  'spec'  yo'  gwine  fine  yo'sc  f  in  love," she  said, 
softly;  and  I  strove  to  smile  with  ever- stiffening 
lips. 

A  little  numbness  that  tingled  spread  over  UK 
was  pleasant;  I  did  not  care  to  withdraw  my  eyes. 
enily  the  tightness  in  my  face  relaxed,  I  moved 
my  lips,  smiling  vaguely 
In  love,"  I  repeated. 
Vaas,  Mars'  Ormon'  " 

"\Vlu- 

•eyo*  know  h'it,  I 
11  me  more." 

"  *Spec'  ah  done  tolc  yo'  too  nnuh.  hnnev."  She 
looked  at  me  steadily.  "Pore  Mars'  Gawge,"  she 
murmured,  "  'spec'  ah  done  tole  yo'  too  inueh.  But 
it  sho'  ama-comin',  honey,  an'  h'it  gwine  come  pow'ful 
sudden,  an'  h'it  gwine  mek  yo'  pow'ful  sick." 

"Am  I  to  win  1 

"No,  honey." 

"Is  there  no  hope.  Aunt  Tulip?" 

She  hesitated  as  though  at  fault ;  I  felt  the  tenseness 
in  my  face  once  more ;  then,  for  ant,  I  lost  tr 

of  time;  for  presently  I  found  myself  standing  in  the 
hallway  watching  Sir  Lupus  through  the  open  door 
of  the  gun-room,  and  Sir  Lupus  was  very  angry. 

114 


AFTERMATH 

"  Dammy !"  he  roared,  "am  I  to  eat  my  plate?  Cato! 
I  want  my  porridge!"  i 

Confused,  I  stood  blinking  at  nim,  and  he  at  table, 
bibbed  like  a  babe,  mad  as  a  hornet,  hammering  on 
the  cloth  with  a  great  silver  spoon  and  bellowing  that 
they  meant  to  starve  him. 

"I  don't  remember  how  I  came  here,"  I  began,  then 
flushed  furiously  at  my  foolishness. 

" Remember  1"  he  shouted.  "I  don't  remember  any- 
thing! I  don't  want  to  remember  anything!  I  want 
my  porridge!  I  want  it  now!  Damnation!" 

Cato,  hastening  past  me  with  the  steaming  dish, 
was  received  with  a  yelp.  But  at  last  Sir  Lupus  got 
his  spoon  into  the  mess  and  a  portion  of  the  mess  into 
his  mouth,  and  fell  to  gobbling  and  growling,  paying 
me  no  further  attention.  So  I  closed  the  door  of  the 
gun-room  on  the  great  patroon  and  walked  to  the  foot 
of  the  stairway. 

A  figure  in  soft  buckskins  was  descending  —  a 
blue -eyed,  graceful  youth  who  hailed  me  with  a 
gesture. 

"Dorothy!"  I  said,  fascinated. 

Her  fringed  hunting-shirt  fell  to  her  knees,  the  short 
shoulder-cape  from  throat  to  breast;  gay  fringe  flut- 
tered from  shoulder  to  wrist,  and  from  thigh  to  ankle ; 
and  her  little  scarlet-quilled  moccasins  went  pat-patki - 
pat  as  she  danced  down  the  stairway  and  stood  before 
me,  sweeping  her  cap  from  her  golden  head  in  exagger- 
ated salute. 

She  seemed  smaller  in  her  boy's  dress,  fuller,  too, 
and  rounder  of  neck  and  limb ;  and  the  witchery  of  her 
beauty  left  me  silent — a  tribute  she  found  delightful, 
for  she  blushed  very  prettily  and  bowed  again  in  dumb 
acknowledgment  of  the  homage  all  too  evident  in  my 
eyes. 

Cato  came  with  a  dish  of  meat  and  a  bottle  of  claret ; 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

and  we  sat  down  on  the  stairs,  punishing  bottle  and 
platter  till  neither  drop  nor  scrap  remained. 

"  Don't  leave  these  dishes  for  Sir  Lupus  to  fall  over!" 
cried  to  Cato,  then  sprang  to  her  feet  and  was 
out  of  the  door  before  I  could  move,  whistling  for  our 
horses. 

As  I  came  out  the  horses  arrived,  and  I  hastened  for- 
ward to  put  her  into  her  saddle,  but  she  was  up  and 
astride  ere  I  reached  the  ground,  coolly  gathering 
bridle  and  feeling  with  her  soft  leather  toes  for  the 
stirrups. 

Astonished,  for  I  had  never  seen  a  girl  so  i 
I  climbed  to  my  saddle  and  wheeled  my  mare,  follow 
her  out  across  the  lawn,  through  the  stockade  and  into 
the  road,  where  1  pushed  my  horse  forward  and  ranged 
up  beside  her  at  a  gallop,  just  as  she  reached  the  bridge. 

"See!"  she  cried,  with  a  sweep  of  her  arm,  ilu •re- 
are  the  children  down  there  fishing  under  the  mill." 
And  she  waved  her  small  cap  of  silver  fox,  calling  in 
a  dear,  sweet  voice  the  Indian  cry  of  triumph, "  Kduel" 


vm 

RIDING  THE  BOUNDS 

FOR  the  first  half-mile  our  road  lay  over  that  same 
golden,  hilly  country,  and  through  the  same  splen- 
did forests  which  I  had  traversed  on  my  way  to 
the  manor.  Then  we  galloped  past  cultivated  land, 
where  clustered  spears  of  Indian  corn  sprouted  above 
the  reddish  golden  soil,  and  sheep  fed  in  stony  past- 
ures. 

Around  the  cabins  of  the  tenantry,  fields  of  oats  and 
barley  glimmered,  thin  blades  pricking  the  loam,  brill- 
iant as  splintered  emeralds. 

A  few  dropping  blossoms  still  starred  the  apple- 
trees,  pears  showed  in  tiny  bunches,  and  once  I  saw 
a  late  peach-tree  in  full  pink  bloom  and  an  old  man 
hoeing  the  earth  around  it.  He  looked  up  as  we  gal- 
loped past,  saluted  sullenly,  and  leaned  on  his  hoe, 
looking  after  us. 

Dorothy  said  he  was  a  Palatine  refugee  and  a  rebel, 
like  the  majority  of  Sir  Lupus's  tenants;  and  I  gazed 
curiously  at  these  fields  and  cabins  where  gaunt  men 
and  gaunter  women,  laboring  among  their  sprouting 
vegetables,  turned  sun-dazzled  eyes  to  watch  us  as  we 
clattered  by;  where  ragged  children,  climbing  on  the 
stockades,  called  out  to  us  in  little,  shrill  voices;  where 
feeding  cattle  lifted  sober  heads  to  stare;  where  lank, 
yellow  dogs  rushed  out  barking  and  snapping  till  a  cut 
of  the  whip  sent  them  scurrying  back. 

Once  a  woman  came  to  her  gate  and  hailed  us,  ask- 

II? 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

ing  if  it  was  true  that  the  troops  had  been  withdrawn 
from  Johnstown  and  Kini:s  borough. 

"Which  troops?"  I  asked. 

"Ours,"  began  the  woman,  then  checked  herself, 
and  shot  a  suspicious  glance  at  inc. 

"  The  Provincials  are  still  at  Johnstown  and  Kings- 
borough,"  said  Dorothy,  gently. 

A  gleam  of  relief  softened  the  woman's  haggard 
features.     Then    her   face  darkened   again   and   she 
pointed  at  two  barefooted  children  shrinking  agai 
the  fence. 

It  my  man  and  I  were  alone  we  would  not  be  afraid 
of  the  Mohawks;  but  these-" 

She  made  a  desperate  gesture,  and  stood  star  HILT 
at  the  blue  May  field  hills  where,  perhaps  at  that  mo- 
ment, painted  Mohawk  scouts  were  watching  the  Sa- 
candaga. 

your  men  remain  quiet,  Mrs.  Schell,  you  need 
fear  neither  rebel,  savage,  nor  Tory,"  said  Dorothy. 
"  The  patroon  will  see  that  you  have  ample  protection." 

Mrs.  Schell  gave  her  a  helpless  glance.    "  Did  you 
not  know  that  the  district  scout-call  has  gone  on 
she  asked. 

s;  but  if  tli  ts  of  Sir  Lupus  obey  it  they 

-o  at  their  jieril."  replied  Dorothy,  gravely.     "The 

militia  scouts  of  t!  must  not  act  hastily. 

ir  husband  would  be  mad  to  answer  a  call  and 

leave  you  here  alon 

"What  would  you  have  him  do?"  muttered  thu 
woman. 

"Do?"  repeated  Dorothy.  "He  can  do  one  thintf 
or  the  other — join  his  regiment  and  take  his  family  to 
i  he  district  fort,  or  stay  at  home  and  care  for  you  and 
the  farm.  These  alarms  are  all  wrong — your  men  are 
either  soldiers  or  fanners;  they  cannot  be  both  unless 
they  live  close  enough  to  the  forts.  Tell  Mr.  Schell 

118 


RIDING   THE   BOUNDS 

that  Francy  McCraw  and  his  riders  are  in  the  forest, 
and  that  the  Brandt-Meester  of  Balston  saw  a  Mohawk 
smoke-signal  on  the  mountain  behind  Mayfield." 

The  woman  folded  her  bony  arras  in  her  apron,  cast 
one  tragic  glance  at  her  children,  then  faced  us  again, 
hollow-eyed  but  undaunted. 

"My  man  is  with  Stoner's  scout,"  she  said,  with  dull 
pride. 

"Then  you  must  go  to  the  block-house/'  began 
Dorc.  <ut  the  woman  pointed  to  the  fields,  shaking 
her  head. 

"We  shall  build  a  block -house  here,"  she  said, 
stubbornly.  "We  cannot  leave  our  corn.  We  must 
eat,  Mistress  Varick.  My  man  is  too  poor  to  be  a 
Provincial  soldier,  too  brave  to  refuse  a  militia  call — " 

She  choked,  rubbed  her  eyes,  and  bent  her  stern 
gaze  on  the  hills  once  more.  Presently  we  rode  on, 
and,  turning  in  my  saddle,  I  saw  her  standing  as  we 
had  left  her,  gaunt,  rigid,  staring  steadily  at  the  dread- 
ed heights  in  the  northwest. 

As  we  galloped,  cultivated  fields  and  orchards  be- 
came rarer;  here  and  there,  it  is  true,  some  cabin  stood 
on  a  half-cleared  hill-side,  and  we  even  passed  one  or 
two  substantial  houses  on  the  flat  ridge  to  the  east, 
but  long,  solid  stretches  of  forest  intervened,  and  pres- 
ently we  left  the  highway  and  wheeled  into  a  cool  wood- 
road  bordered  on  either  side  by  the  forest. 

"Here  we  find  our  first  landmark/'  said  Dorothy, 
drawing  bridle. 

A  white  triangle  glimmered,  cut  in  the  bark  of  an 
enormous  pine ;  and  my  cousin  rode  up  to  the  tree  and 
patted  the  bark  with  her  little  hand.  On  the  triangle 
somebody  had  cut  a  V  and  painted  it  black. 

"This  is  a  boundary  mark/'  said  Dorothy.  "The 
Mohawks  claim  the  forest  to  the  east ;  ride  around  and 
you  will  see  their  sign." 

319 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

I  guided  my  horse  around  the  huge,  straight  trunk*. 
An  oval  blaze  scarred  it  and  on  the  wood  was  painted 
a  red  wolf. 

"  It's  the  wolf -clan,  Brant's  own  clan  of  the  Mohawk 
nation,"  she  called  out  to  me.  "Follow  me,  cousin." 
And  she  dashed  off  down  the  wood-road,  I  galloping 
behind,  leaping  windfalls,  gullies,  and  the  shallow 
forest  brooks  that  crossed  our  way.  The  road  narrow  «.  d 
to  a  trodden  trail;  the  trail  faded,  marked  at  first  by 
cut  undergrowth,  then  only  by  the  whit 
tree-trunks. 

These  my  cousin  followed,  her  horse  at  a  canter,  and 
I  followed  her,  halting  now  and  again  to  vci 
white  triangle  on  the  solid  flank  of  some  forest  gi. 
panning  a  sugar-bush  with  the  shack  still  standing 
and  the  black  embers  of  the  fire  scattered,  until  we 
came  to  a  logging-road  and  turned  into  it,  side  by 
side.    A  well-defined  path  crossed  this  road  at  right 
angles,  and  Dorothy  pointed  it  out    "The  Iroquois 
trail,"  she  said.     "See  how  deeply  it  is  worn — nearly 
ten  inches  deep — where  the  Five  Nations  have  trod 
it  for  centuries.     Over  it  their  liun ting-parties  pass, 
their  scouts,  their  war-parties.     It  runs  fn  ven- 

nyetto  to  the  Sacandaga  and  north  over  the  hills  to 
the  Canadas." 

We  halted  and  looked  down  the  empty,  trodden  trail, 
stretching  away  through  the  forest.  Thousands  and 
thousands  of  light,  moccasined  feet  had  worn  it  deep 
and  patted  it  hard  as  a  sheep-path.  On  what  mis 
would  the  next  Mohawk  feet  be  speeding  on  that 
trail? 

"Those  people  at  Fonda's  Bush  had  best  mo\ 
Johnstown,"  said  Dorothy.     "  If  the  Mohawks  strike, 
v  will  strike  through  here  at  Balston  or  Saratoga, 
or  at  the  half-dozen  families  left  at  Fonda's  Bush* 
some  of  them  call  Broadalbin." 

120 


RIDING   THE    BOUNDS 

"Have  these  poor  wretches  no  one  to  warn  them?"  I 
asked. 

"Oh,  they  have  been  warned  and  warned,  but  they 
cling  to  their  cabins  as  cats  cling  to  soft  cushions. 
The  Palatines  seem  paralyzed  with  fear,  the  Dutch 
are  too  lazy  to  move  in  around  the  forts,  the  Scotch 
and  English  too  obstinate.  Nobody  can  do  anything 
for  them — you  heard  what  that  Schell  woman  said 
when  I  urged  her  to  prudence." 

I  bent  my  eyes  on  the  ominous  trail ;  its  very  empti- 
ness fascinated  me,  and  I  dismounted  and  knelt  to  ex- 
amine it  where,  near  a  dry,  rotten  log,  some  fresh  marks 
showed. 

Behind  me  I  heard  Dorothy  dismount,  dropping  to 
the  ground  lightly  as  a  tree-lynx;  the  next  moment 
she  laid  her  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  bent  over  where 
I  was  kneeling. 

"Can  you  read  me  that  sign?"  she  asked,  mischiev- 
ously. 

"  Something  has  rolled  and  squatted  in  the  dry  wood- 
dust — some  bird,  I  think." 

"A  good  guess,"  she  said;  "a  cock-partridge  has 
dusted  here;  see  those  bits  of  down?  I  say  a  cock- 
bird  because  I  know  that  log  to  be  a  drumming-log." 

She  raised  herself  and  guided  her  horse  along  the 
trail,  bright  eyes  restlessly  scanning  ground  and  fring- 
ing underbrush. 

"Deer  passed  here — one — two — three — the  third  a 
buck — a  three-year  old,"  she  said,  sinking  her  voice 
by  instinct.  "  Yonder  a  tree-cat  dug  for  a  wood-mouse ; 
your  lynx  is  ever  hanging  about  a  drumming-log." 

I  laid  my  hand  on  her  arm  and  pointed  to  a  fresh, 
green  maple  leaf  lying  beside  the  trail. 

"Ay,"  she  murmured,  " but  it  fell  naturally,  cousin. 
See ;  here  it  parted  from  the  stalk,  clean  as  a  poplar 
twig,  leaving  the  shiny  cup  unbruised.  And  nothing 

121 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

has  passed  here — this  spider's  web  tells  that,  with  a 
dead  moth  dangling  from  it,  dead  these  three  d. 

its  brittle  shell." 

I  hear  water,     I  said,  and  presently  we  came  to  it, 
where  it  hurried  darkling  across  the  trail. 

There  were  no  human  si^ns  there;  here  a  woodcock 
had  peppered  the  mud  with  little  holes,  probing  for 
worms;  there  a  raccoon  had  picked  Ins  way;  yond< 
Ivnx  had  left  the  great  padded  mark  of  its  foot,  doubt- 
less watching  for  yonder  mink  nosing  us  from  the  bank 
of  the  still  pool  bel< 

Silently  we  mounted  and  rode  out  of  the  still  Mohawk 
country;  and  I  was  not  sorry  to  leave,  for  it  seemed  to 
me  that  there  was  something  unfriendly  in  the  intense 
stillness — something  baleful  in  the  silence;  and  I  was 
glad  presently  to  see  an  open  road  and  a  great  tree 
marked  with  Sir  Lupus's  mark,  the  sun  shining  on 
the  \\  mgle  and  the  painted  V. 

LC  a  slashing  where  the  logging-road  passed, 
we  moved  on,  side  by  side,  talking  in  low  tones.  A 
my  cousin  taught  me  how  to  know  these  Northern 
trees  by  bark  and  leaf;  how  to  know  the  shrubs  new  to 
.  like  that  strange  plant  whose  root  is  like  a  human 
body  and  which  tl 

gold ;  and  the  aromatic  root  used  in  beer,  and  the  bark 
of  the  sv.  i  \vh«»se  twigs  are  golden-black. 

Now,  though  the  birds  and  many  of  the  beasts  and 
trees  were  familiar  to  me  in  this  Northern  forest,  yet  I 
was  constantly  at  fault,  as  I  have  said.     Plumage 
and  leaf  and  fur  puzzled  me;  our  gra>  rice-bird  1. 
wore  a  vel\  v  of  black  and  white  and  sang  di- 

vinely, though  with  us  he  is  mute  as  a  mullet ;  many 
squirrels  were  striped  with  black  and  white;  no  rosy 
lichen  glimmered  on  the  tree-trunks;  no  pink-stem; 
pines  softened  sombre  forest  depths;  no  great  figer- 
striped  butterflies  told  me  that  the  wild  orange  waa 

122 


RIDING   THE    BOUNDS 

growing  near  at  hand ;  no  whirring,  olive-tinted  moth 
signalled  the  hidden  presence  of  the  oleander.  But  I 
saw  everywhere  unfamiliar  winged  things,  I  heard 
unfamiliar  bird-notes;  new  colors  perplexed  me,  new 
shapes,  nay,  the  very  soil  smelled  foreign,  and  the 
water  tasted  savorless  as  the  mist  of  pine  barrens  in 
February. 

Still,  my  Maker  had  set  eyes  in  my  head  and  given 
me  a  nose  to  sniff  with :  and  I  was  learning  every  mo- 
ment, tasting,  smelling,  touching,  listening,  asking 
questions  unashamed ;  and  my  cousin  Dorothy  seemed 
never  to  tire  in  aiding  me,  nor  did  her  eager  delight  and 
sympathy  abate  one  jot. 

Dressed  in  full  deer-skin  as  was  I,  she  rode  her  horse 
astride  with  a  grace  as  perfect  as  it  was  unstudied  and 
unconscious,  neither  affecting  the  slothful  carriage  of 
our  Southern  saddle-masters  nor  the  dragoons'  rigid 
seat,  but  sat  at  ease,  hollow-backed,  loose-thighed,  free- 
rc'ined  and  free-stirruped. 

Her  hair,  gathered  into  a  golden  club  at  the  nape  of 
the  neck,  glittered  in  the  sun,  her  eyes  deepened  like 
the  violet  depths  of  mid-heaven.  Already  the  sun  had 
Vnt  her  a  delicate,  creamy  mask,  golden  on  her  temples 
where  the  hair  grew  paler;  and  I  thought  I  had  never 
seen  such  wholesome  sweetness  and  beauty  in  any 
living  being. 

We  now  rode  through  a  vast  flat  land  of  willows, 
headed  due  north  once  more,  and  I  saw  a  little  river 
which  twisted  a  hundred  times  upon  itself  like  a  stricken 
snake,  winding  its  shimmering  coils  out  and  in  through 
woodland,  willow-flat,  and  reedy  marsh. 

"The  Kennyetto,"  said  Dorothy,  "flowing  out  of 
the  great  Vlaie  to  empty  its  waters  close  to  its  source 
after  a  circle  of  half  a  hundred  miles.  Yonder  lies  the 
VTaie — it  is  that  immense  flat  country  of  lake  and  marsh 
and  forest  which  is  wedged  in  just  south  of  the  moun- 

I2L1 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

tain-gap  where  the  last  of  the  Adiron<  put  into 

the  Ma   fu  Id  hills  and  the  long,  low  spurs  rolling  away 
to  the  southeast.     Sir  William  Johnson  had  a  lodge 
there  at  Summer-house  Point.     Since  his  death 
George  Covert  has  leased  it  from  Sir  John.    That  is 
our  try  sting-place." 

To  hear  Sir  George's  name  now  vaguely  disturbed 
me,  yet  I  .ould  not  think  why,  for  I  admired  and  1 
him  Hut  at  the  bare  mention  of  his  name  a  dull  un- 
easiness came  over  me  and  I  turned  iinj>atiently  to 
my  cousin  as  though  the  irritation  had  come  from  her 
and  she  must  explain  it 

What  is  it?"  she  inquired,  faintly  smiling. 

"  I  asked  no  quest  muttered, 

"  I  thought  you  meant  to  speak,  cous 

I  had  meant  to  say  something.     I  did  not  know 
what. 

"  You  seem  to  know  when  I  am  about  to  speak 
said  is  twice  you  have  responded  to  my  unasked 

questions." 

"I  know  it,"  she  said,  surprised  and  a  trifle  per- 
plexed.   "  I  seem  to  hear  you  when  you  are  mute,  and 
:rn  to  find  you  looking  at  me,  as  though  you  had 
asked  me  something." 

We  rode  on,  thoughtful,  silent,  aware  of  a  new  and 
wordless  intimacy. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  be  with  you,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I 
have  never  before  found  untroubled  contentment  save 
when  I  am  alone.  .  .  .  Everything  that  you  see  ;md 
think  of  on  this  ride  I  seem  to  see  and  think  of,  too, 
and  know  that  you  are  observing  with  the  same  de- 
light that  I  feel.  .  .  .  Nor  does  anything  in  the  world 
disturb  my  happiness.  Nor  do  you  vex  me  with  silence 
when  I  would  have  you  speak ;  nor  with  speech  when 
I  ride  dreaming — as  I  do,  cousin,  for  hours  and  hours 
sadly,  but  in  the  sweetest  peace — " 
124 


RIDING    THE    BOUNDS 

Her  voice  died  out  like  a  June  breeze ;  our  horses,  ear 
to  ear  moved  on  slowly  in  the  fragrant  silence. 

"To  ride  .  .  .  forever  .  .  .  together/'  she  mused, 
"  looking  with  perfect  content  on  all  the  world.  ...  I 
teaching  you,  or  you  me;  ...  it's  all  one  for  the  de- 
light it  gives  to  be  alive  and  young.  .  .  .  And  no  trouble 
to  await  us, ...  nothing  malicious  to  do  a  harm  to  any 
living  thing.  ...  I  could  renounce  Heaven  for  that.  .  .  . 
Could  you?" 

"Yes.  ...For  less." 

"  I  know  I  ask  t^o  much ;  grief  makes  us  purer,  fit- 
ting us  "or  the  company  of  blessed  souls.  They  say 
that  even  war  may  be  a  holy  thing — though  we  are 
commanded  otherwise.  .  .  .  Cousin,  at  moments  a  de- 
mon rises  in  me  and  I  desire  some  forbidden  thing  so 
ardently,  so  passionately,  that  it  seems  as  if  I  could 
fight  a  path  through  paradise  itself  to  gain  what  I 
desire.  ...  Do  you  feel  so?  ' 

"Yes." 

"  Is  it  not  consuming — terrible  to  be  so  shaken?  .  .  . 
Yet  I  never  gain  my  desire,  for  there  in  my  path  my 
own  self  rises  to  confront  me,  blocking  my  way.  And 
I  can  never  pass  —  never.  .  .  .  Once,  in  winter,  our 
agent,  Mr.  Fonda,  came  driving  a  trained  caribou  to 
a  sledge.  A  sweet,  gentle  thing,  with  dark,  mild  eyes, 
and  I  was  mad  to  drive  it — mad,  cousin!  But  Sir  Lu- 
pus learned  that  it  had  trodden  and  gored  a  man,  and 
put  me  on  my  honor  not  ti  drive  it.  And  all  day  Sir 
Lupus  was  away  at  Kingsborough  for  his  rents  and 
I  free  to  drive  the  sledge,  .  .  .  and  I  was  mad  to  do  it — 
and  could  not.  And  the  pretty  beast  stabled  with  our 
horses,  and  every  day  I  might  have  driven  it.  ...  I 
never  did.  ...  It  hurts  yet,  cousin.  .  .  .  How  strange 
is  it  that  to  us  the  single  word,  'honor/  blocks  the 
road  and  makes  the  King's  own  highway  no  thorough- 
fare forever!" 

125 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

She  gathered  bridle  nervously,  and  we  launched  out 
horses  through  a  willow  fringe  and  away  over  a  soft, 
sandy  intervale,  riding  knee  to  knee  till  the  wind  whis- 
tled in  our  ears  and  the  sand  rose  fountain  high  at 
every  stride  of  our  bounding  horses. 

"Ah!"  she  si-hed,  drawing  bridle  That  clears 
the  heart  of  silly  troubles.  Was  it  not  glorious?  Like 
a  plunge  to  the  throat  in  an  icy  pool!" 

Her  face,  radiant,  transfigured,  was  turned  to  the 
north,  where,  glittering  under  the  westward  sun,  the 
sunny  waters  of  the  Vlaie  sparkled  between  green 
reeds  and  rushes.  Beyond,  omoky  blue  mountains 
tumbled  into  two  uneven  walls,  spread  southeast  and 
southwest,  flanking  the  flat  valley  of  the  Vlaie. 

Thousands  of  blackbirds  chattered  and  croaked 
and  trilled  and  whistled  in  the  reeds,  flitting  upward, 
with  a  flash  of  scarlet  on  their  wings;  hovering,  drop- 
ping again  amid  a  ceaseless  chorus  from  the  h 
hidden  flock.  Over  the  marshes  slow  hawks  sailol, 
rose,  wheeled,  and  fell ;  the  gray  ducks,  whose  wings 
bear  purple  diamond-squares,  quacked  in  the  tussock 
ponds,  guarded  by  their  sen  u  tall,  hliu 

ry where  the  earth  was  sheeted  with  inarsh-n 
golds  and  •. 

Across  the  distant  grassy  flat  two  deer  moved,  graz- 
ing. We  rode  to  the  east,  skirting  the  marshes,  follow- 
ing a  trail  made  by  cattle,  until  beyond  the  flats  we  saw 
the  green  roof  <>f  the  pleasure-house  which  Sir  Will- 
iam Johnson  had  built  for  himself.  Our  ri<K  i  r  th<r 
was  nearly  ended. 

As  at  the  same  thought  we  tightened  bridle 
looked  at  each  other  gravely. 

'  All  rides  end,"  I  said. 

"Ay,  like  happiness." 

"Both  may  be  renewed." 

"Until  they  end  again." 
126 


RIDING   THE   BOUNDS 

"Until  they  end  forever." 

She  clasped  her  bare  hands  on  her  horse's  neck,  sit- 
ting with  bent  head  as  though  lost  in  sombre  mem- 
ories. 

"  What  ends  forever  might  endure  forever/'  I  said. 

"Not  our  rides  together,"  she  murmured.     "You 
must  return  to  the  South  one  day.     I  must  wed.  .  . 
Where  shall  we  be  this  day  a  year  hence?" 

"  Very  far  apart,  cousin." 

"  Will  you  remember  this  ride?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  troubled. 

"  I  will,  too.  .  .  .  And  I  shall  wonder  what  you  are 
doing." 

"  And  I  shall  think  of  you,"  I  said,  soberly. 

"Will  you  write?" 

"Yes.     Will  you?" 

"Yes." 

Silence  fell  between  us  like  a  shadow ;  then : 

"Yonder  rides  Sir  George  Covert,"  she  said,  list- 
lessly. 

I  saw  him  dismounting  before  his  door,  but  said 
nothing. 

"  Shall  we  move  forward?"  she  asked,  bitt  did  not  stir 
a  finger  towards  the  bridle  lying  on  her  horse's  neck. 

Another  silence ;  and,  impatiently : 

"I  cannot  bear  to  have  you  go,"  she  said;  "we  are 
perfectly  contented  together — and  I  wish  you  to  know 
all  the  thoughts  I  have  touching  on  the  world  and  on 
people.  A  cannot  tell  them  to  my  father,  nor  to  Ruy- 
ven — and  Cecile  is  too  young — " 

"  There  is  Sir  George,"  I  said. 

"Hel  Why,  I  should  never  think  of  telling  him 
of  these  thoughts  that  please  or  trouble  or  torment 
me!"  she  said,  in  frank  surprise.  "He  neither  cares 
for  the  things  you  care  for  nor  thinks  about  them  at 
all." 

127 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"Perhaps  he  does.     Ask  him." 

"  I  have.  He  smiles  and  says  nothing.  I  am  afraid 
to  tax  his  courtesy  with  babble  of  beast  and  bin!  and 
leaf  and  flower;  and  why  one  man  is  rich  and  anollu  r 
poor;  and  whether  it  is  right  that  men  should  hold 
slaves;  and  why  our  Lord  permits  evil,  having  the 
power  to  end  it  for  all  time.  I  should  like  to  know  all 
c  things/'  she  said,  earnestly. 

"  But  I  do  not  know  them,  Dorothy." 

"  Still,  you  think  about  them,  and  so  do  I.  Sir  Lupus 
says  you  have  liberated  your  Greeks  and  sent  them 
back.  I  want  to  know  why.  Then,  too,  though  i 
ther  you  nor  I  can  know  our  Lord's  purpose  in  endur- 
ing the  evil  that  Satan  plans,  it  is  pleasant,  I  think,  to 
ask  each  otl 

"To  think  together."  I  said,  sadly. 
Yes  ;  that  is  it.     Is  it  not  a  pleasure?" 

"Yes,  Dorothy." 

does  not  matter  that  we  fail  to  learn;  it  is  the 
happiness  in  knowing  that  the  other  also  cares  t« 
the  delight  in  searching  for  reason  together     i 
I  have  so  longed  to  say  this  to  somebody;  and  until 
you  came  I  never  believed  it  possible.  ...  I  wish  we 
were  brother  and  sister!     I  wish  you  were  Ceci 
I  could  be  with  you  all  day  and  all  night  . .  .  At  mi/ht . 
half  asleep,  I  think  of  wonderful  things  to  talk  ab 
but  I  forget  them  by  morning.     Do  you?" 

"Yes,  cou 

is  strange  we  are  so  alike!"  she  said,  staring  at 
me  thoughtfully. 


IX 

HIDDEN  FIRE 

Ai^TER  a  few  moments'  silence  we  moved  forward 
towards  the  pleasure  -  house,  and  we  had  scarcely 
started  when  down  the  road,  from  the  north,  came  the 
patroon  riding  a  powerful  black  horse,  attended  by 
old  Cato  mounted  on  a  raw-boned  hunter,  and  by  one 
Peter  Van  Horn,  the  district  Brandt-Meester,  or  fire- 
warden. As  they  halted  at  Sir  George  Covert's  door, 
we  rode  up  to  join  them  at  a  gallop,  and  the  patroon, 
seeing  us  far  off,  waved  his  hat  at  us  in  evident  good 
humor. 

"Not  a  landmark  missing  1"  he  shouted,  "and  my 
signs  all  witnessed  for  record  by  Peter  and  Catol  How 
do  the  southwest  landmarks  stand?" 

"  The  tenth  pine  is  blasted  by  lightning,"  said  Doro- 
thy, walking  her  beautiful  gray  to  Sir  Lupus's  side. 

"  Pooh!  We've  a  dozen  years  to  change  trees,"  said 
Sir  Lupus,  in  great  content.  "  All's  well  everywhere, 
save  at  the  Fish-House  near  the  Sacandaga  ford,  where 
some  impudent  rascal  says  he  saw  smoke  on  the  hills. 
He's  doubtless  a  liar.  Where's  Sir  George?" 

Sir  George  sauntered  forth  from  the  doorway  where 
he  had  been  standing,  and  begged  us  to  dismount, 
but  the  patroon  declined,  saying  that  we  had  far  to 
ride  ere  sundown,  and  that  one  of  us  should  go  around 
by  Broadalbin.  However,  Dorothy  and  I  slipped 
from  our  saddles  to  stretch  our  legs  while  a  servant 
brought  stirrup-cups  and  Sir  George  gathered  a  spray 
9  129 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

of  late  lilac  which  my  cousin  fastened  to  her  leather 
belt. 

"  Tory  lilacs/'  said  Sir  George,  slyly ;  "  these  bushes 
came  from  cuttings  of  those  Sir  William  planted  at 
Johnson  Hall." 

*  If  Sir  William  planted  them,  a  rebel  may  wear 
thi-in,"  replied  Dorothy,  gayly. 

"  Ay,  it's  that  whelp,  Sir  John .  who  has  marred  what 
the  great  baronet  left  as  his  monument,"  growled  old 
Peter  Van  Horn. 

That's  treason!"  snapped  the  patroon.  "Stop  it. 
I  won't  have  politics  talked  in  my  presence,  no!  Dam- 
my.  Peter,  hold  your  toimm •. 

Dorothy,  wearing  the  lilac  spray,  vaulted  lightly 
into  her  saddle,  and  I  mounted  my  mare.  Stirrup* 
cups  were  filled  and  passed  up  to  us,  and  we  draiiud 
a  cooled  measure  of  spiced  claret  to  the  master  of  the 
pleasure-house,  who  pledged  us  gracefully  in  nturn, 
and  then  stood  by  Dorothy's  hor  and  laugh- 

im:  until,  at  a  sign  from  Sir  Lupus,  Cato  sounded 
"Afoot!"  on  his  curly  hunting-horn,  and  the  patroon 
wheeled  his  big  horse  out  into  thr  road,  with  a  whij>- 
salute  to  our  host. 

"Dine  with  us  tonight'"  he  bawled,  without  turn- 
ing his  fat  head  or  waiting  for  a  reply,  and  hamrm 
away  in  a  torrent  of  dust.    Sir  George  glanced  u 
fully  at  Dorothy. 

"There's  a  district  officer-call  gone  out,"  he  said. 
"Some  of  the  Palatine  officers  desire  my  presence.  I 
cannot  refuse.  So  ...  it  is  good-bye  for  a  v, 

"Are  you  a  militia  officer?"  I  asked,  curiously. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  humorous  grimace.  "May 
I  say  that  you  also  are  a  candidate?" 

Dorothy  turned  squarely  in  her  saddle  and  looked 
me  in  the  eyes. 

"  At  the  district's  service,  Sir  George,"  I  said,  lightly 

130 


HIDDEN   FIRE 

"Hal  That  is  well  done,  Ormond!"  he  exclaimed. 
94  Nothing  yet  to  inconvenience  you,  but  our  Governor 
Clinton  may  send  you  a  billet  doux  from  Albany  before 
May  ends  and  June  begins  —  if  this  periwigged  beau, 
St.  Leger,  strolls  out  to  ogle  Stanwix — " 

Dorothy  turned  her  horse  sharply,  saluted  Sir  George, 
and  galloped  away  towards  her  father,  who  had  halted 
at  the  cross-roads  to  wait  for  us. 

"Good-bye,  Sir  George/'  I  said,  offering  my  hand. 
He  took  it  in  a  firm,  steady  clasp. 

"  A  safe  journey,  Ormond.  I  trust  fortune  may  see 
fit  to  throw  us  together  in  this  coming  campaign." 

I  bowed,  turned  bridle,  and  cantered  off,  leaving 
him  standing  in  the  road  before  his  gayly  painted 
pleasure-house,  an  empty  wine-cup  in  his  hand. 

"Damnation,  George!"  bawled  Sir  Lupus,  as  I  rode 
up,  "  have  we  all  day  to  stand  nosing  one  another  and 
trading  gossip  1  Some  of  us  must  ride  by  Fonda's 
Bush,  or  Broadalbin,  whatever  the  Scotch  loons  call 
it;  and  I'll  say  plainly  that  I  have  no  stomach  for  it; 
I  want  my  dinner!" 

"  It  will  give  me  pleasure  to  go/'  said  I, "  but  I  re- 
quire a  guide." 

"Peter  shall  ride  with  you,"  began  Sir  Lupus;  but 
Dorothy  broke  in,  impatientl}' : 

"  He  need  not.  I  shall  guide  Mr.  Ormond  to  Broad- 
albin." 

"Oh  no,  you  won't!"  snapped  the  patroon;  "you've 
done  enough  of  forest-running  for  one  day.  Peter, 
pilot  Mr.  Ormond  to  the  Bush." 

And  he  galloped  on  ahead,  followed  by  Cato  and 
Peter;  so  that,  by  reason  of  their  dust,  which  we  did 
not  choose  to  choke  in,  Dorothy  and  I  slackened  our 
pace  and  fell  behind. 

"  Do  you  know  why  you  are  to  pass  by  Broadalbin  ?" 
she  asked,  presently. 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

I  said  I  did  not. 

"  Folk  at  the  Fish-House  saw  smoke  on  the  Mayfield 
hills  an  hour  since.  That  is  twice  in  three  days!" 

"Well,"  said  I,  "what  of  th 

"It  is  best  that  the  Broadalbin  settlement  should 
hear  of  it." 

"Do  you  mean  that  it  may  have  been  an  Indian 
sign 

It  rnay  have  been.     I  did  not  see  it — the  forest  cut 
our  view." 

The  westering  sun,  shining  over  the  Maylu  Id  hills. 
turned  the  dust  to  golden  fog.     Through  it  Cato's 
coat  glimmered,  and  the  hunting-horn,  curving   up 
over  his  bent  back,  struck  out  streams  of  blinding 
sparks.     Brass  buttons  on  the  patrooVs  broad  coat- 
skirts  twinkled  like  yellow  stars,  and  the  spurs  fla.v 
on  his  quarter-gaiters  as  he  pounded  along  at  a  solid 
hand-gallop,  hat  crammed  over  his  fat  ears,  pig 
a-bristle,  and  the  blue  coat  on  his  enormous  body  white 
!i  dust. 

In  the  renewed  melody  of  the  song-birds  there  was 
a  hint  of  approaching  evening;  shadows  lengthened; 
the  sunlight  grew  redder  on  the  dusty  road. 

"The  Broadalbin  trail  swings  into  the  forest  just 
ahead/'  said  Dorothy,  pointing  with  her  whip-stock. 
"See,  there  where  they  are  drawing  hndK  Hut  I 
mean  to  ride  with  you,  nevertheless.  .  .  .  And  I'll  do  it ' 

The  patroon  was  waiting  for  us  when  we  came  to 
the  weather-beaten  finger-post: 

"  FONDA'S  BUSH 
4  MILES." 

And  Peter  Van  Horn  had  already  ridden  into  the  broad, 
soft  wood-road,  when  Dorothy,  swinging  her  horse 
past  him  at  a  gallop,  cried  out,  "I  want  to  go  with 


HIDDEN    FIRE 

them!     Please  let  me!"     And  was  gone  like  a  deer, 
tearing  away  down  the  leafy  trail. 

"Come  back!"  roared  Sir  Lupus,  standing  straight 
up  in  his  ponderous  stirrups.  "  Come  back,  you  little 
vixen!  Am  I  to  be  obeyed,  or  am  I  not?  Baggage! 
Undutiful  tree-cat!  Dammy,  she's  off!" 

He  looked  at  me  and  smote  his  fat  thigh  with  open 
hand. 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  like  of  her!"  he  chuckled,  in 
his  pride.  "  She's  a  Dutch  Varick  for  obstinacy,  but 
the  rest  is  Ormond — all  Ormond.  Ride  on,  George, 
and  tell  those  rebel  fools  at  Fonda's  Bush  that  they 
should  be  hunting  cover  in  the  forts  if  folk  at  the  Fish- 
House  read  that  smoke  aright.  Follow  the  Brandt- 
Meester  if  Dorothy  slips  you,  and  tell  her  I'll  birch  her, 
big  as  she  is,  if  she's  not  home  by  the  new  moon  rise." 

Then  he  dragged  his  hat  over  his  mottled  ears, 
grasped  the  bridle  and  galloped  on,  followed  by  old 
Cato  and  his  red  coat  and  curly  horn. 

I  had  ridden  a  cautious  mile  on  the  dim,  leafy  trail 
ere  I  picked  up  Van  Horn,  only  to  quit  him.  I  had 
ridden  full  three  before  I  caught  sight  of  Dorothy,  sit- 
ting her  gray  horse,  head  at  gaze  in  my  direction. 

"  What  in  the  world  set  you  tearing  off  through  the 
forest  like  that?"  I  asked,  laughing. 

She  turned  her  horse  and  we  walked  on,  side  by 
side. 

"  I  wished  to  come,"  she  said,  simply.  "  The  pleas- 
ures of  this  day  must  end  only  with  the  night.  Be- 
sides, I  was  burning  to  ask  you  if  it  is  true  that  you 
mean  to  stay  here  and  serve  with  our  militia?" 

"  I  mean  to  stay/'  I  said,  slowly. 

"And  serve?" 

"If  they  desire  it." 

"  Why?"  she  asked,  raising  her  bright  eyes. 

I  thought  a  moment,  then  said : 
133 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"I  hare  decided  to  resist  our  King's  soldiers." 
"But  why  here?"  she  repeated,  clear  eyes  still  on 
mine.     "Tell  me  the  truth.1' 

"  I  think  it  is  because  you  are  here,"  I  said,  soberly. 
The  loveliest  smile  parted  her  lips. 
"  I  hoped  you  would  say  that.  ...  Do  I  please  you? 
ten,  cousin:  I  have  a  mad  impulse  to  follow  you — 
to  be  hindered  rages  me  beyond  endurance — as  when 
Sir  Lupus  called  me  back.     For,  within  the  past  hour 
ingest  fancy  has  possessed  me  that  we  have 
little  time  left  to  be  together ;  that  I  ^should  not  let  one 
moment  slip  to  enjoy  you." 

"Foolish  prophetess,"  I  said,  striving  to  laugh. 
"A  prophetess?"  she  repeated  under  her   breath. 
And,  as  we  rode  on  through  the  forest  dusk,  her  head 
drooped  thoughtfully,  shaded  by  her  loosened   hair. 
At  list  she  looked  up  dreamily,  musing  aloud : 
"  No  prophetess,  cousin ;  only  a  chi  1  rless  and 

fi\ttcd  with  too  much  pleasure,  tired  out    M 

having  played  too  hard.     I  do  not  know 
quite  how  I  should  conduct.     I  am  unaccustomed  to 
like  you,  cousin;  and,  in  the  untasted  de- 
lights of  such  companionship,  have  run  wikl  till 
head  swims  wT  the  humming  thoughts  you 

.  and  I  long  for  a  dark,  still  room  and  a  bed  to  lu 
on,  and  think  of  this  day's  pleasures." 

After  a  silence,  broken  only  by  our  horses  treading 
the  I  have  been  starving  for  this  com- 

panionship. ...  I  was  parched!  .  .  .  Cousin,  ha\v  you 
drink  too  deeply?    Have  you  been  too  kind? 
Wh  in  this  new  terror  lest  you — lest  you  tire  of 

and  my  silly  speech?    Oh,  I  know  my  thoughts 
have  been  too  long  pent!     I  could  talk  to  you  forever! 
•uld  ride  with  you  till  I  died!     I  am  like  a  caged 
ig  loosed,  I  tell  you — for  I  may  tell  you,  may  I  D 
cous 

134 


HIDDEN    FIRE 

"Tell  me  all  you  think,  Dorothy." 

"I  could  tell  you  all  —  everything!  I  never  had  a 
thought  that  I  do  not  desire  you  to  know,  .  .  .  save 
one.  .  .  .  And  that  I  do  desire  to  tell  you  .  .  .  but 
cannot.  .  .  .  Cousin,  why  did  you  name  your  mare 
Isene?" 

"  An  Indian  girl  in  Florida  bore  that  name  ;  the  Semi- 
noles  called  her  Issena." 

"  And  so  you  named  your  mare  from  her?" 

"Yes." 

"  Was  she  your  friend  —  that  you  named  your  mare 
from  her?" 

"  She  lived  a  century  ago  —  a  princess.  She  wedded 
with  a  Huguenot." 

"Oh,"  said  Dorothy,  "I  thought  she  was  perhaps 
your  sweetheart." 

"I  have  none." 

"  You  never  had  one?" 

"No." 


I  turned  in  my  saddle. 

"  Why  have  you  never  had  a  gallant?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  the  same.  Men  fall  in  love  —  or  pro- 
test as  much.  And  at  wine  they  boast  of  their  good 
fortunes,  swearing  each  that  his  mistress  is  the  fairest, 
and  bragging  till  I  yawn  to  listen.  .  .  .  And  yet  you 
say  you  never  had  a  sweetheart?" 

"  Neither  titled  nor  untitled,  cousin.  And,  if  I  had, 
at  home  we  never  speak  of  it,  deeming  it  a  breach  of 
honor." 

"Why?" 

"For  shame,  I  suppose." 

"  Is  it  shameless  to  speak  as  I  do?"  she  asked. 

"  Not  to  me,  Dorothy.  I  wish  you  might  be  spared 
all  that  unlicensed  gossip  that  you  hear  at  table  —  not 
that  it  could  harm  such  innocence  as  yours!  For,  on 

135 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

honor,  I  never  knew  a  woman  such  as  you,  nor  a 
maid  so  nobly  fashioned!" 

I  stopped,  meeting  her  wide  eyes. 
"Say  it,"  she  murmured.     "It  is  happiness  to  hear 
you." 

"Then  hear  me,"  I  said,  slowly.  "Loyalty,  de- 
votion, tenderness,  all  are  your  due;  not  alone  for  tlu 
fair  body  that  holds  your  soul  imprisoned,  but  for  the 
pure  tenant  that  dwells  in  it  so  sweetly  behind  the  bhu- 
idows  of  your  eyes!  Dorothy!  Dorothy  1  Have 
I  said  too  much?  Yet  I  beg  that  you  remember 
lest  you  forget  me  wlu-n  I  have  gone  from  you. 
And  say  to  Sir  George  that  I  said  it.  ...  Tell  him 
after  you  are  wedded,  and  say  that  all  men  envy  him. 
yet  wish  him  well.  For  the  day  he  weds  he  weds  the 
noblest  woman  in  all  the  confines  of  this  earth!" 

d,  she  stared  at  nu   through  the  fading  light; 
and  I  saw  her  eyes  all  wt  t  in  the  shadow  of  her  tangled 
;ind  the  pulse  beating  in  her  throat. 

so  good — so  pitiful,"  she  said;  "and  I 
cannot  even  find  the  words  to  tell  you  of  those  deep 
thoughts  you  stir  in  me — to  tell  you  how  sweetly  you 
use  me — " 

11  me  no  more,"  I  stammered,  all  .Mjimvr  .a  h<  r 
voice.  She  shrank  back  as  at  a  blow,  and  I,  head 
swimming,  frighted,  penitent,  caught  her  small  hand 
in  mine  and  drew  her  nearer;  nor  could  I  speak  for 
the  loud  beating  of  my  heart 

What  is  it?"  she  murmured.  "  Have  I  pained  you 
that  you  tremble  so?  Look  at  me,  cousin.  I  can 
scarce  see  you  in  the  dusk.  Have  I  hurt  you?  I  love 
you  dearly." 

Her  horse  moved  nearer,  our  knees  touched.  In  the 
forest  darkness  I  found  I  held  her  waist  imprisoned, 
and  her  arms  were  heavy  on  my  shoulders.  Then  her 
lips  yielded  and  her  arms  tightened  around  my  neck* 

136 


HIDDEN    FIRE 

and  that  swift  embrace  in  the  swimming  darkness 
kindled  in  me  a  flame  that  has  never  died — that  shall 
live  when  this  poor  body  crumbles  into  dust,  lighting 
my  soul  through  its  last  dark  pilgrimage. 

As  for  her,  she  sat  up  in  her  saddle  with  a  strange 
little  laugh,  still  holding  to  my  hand.  "  Oh,  you  are 
divine  in  all  you  lead  me  to/'  she  whispered.  "  Never, 
never  have  I  known  delight  in  a  kiss;  and  I  have 
been  kissed,  too,  willing  and  against  my  will.  But 
you  leave  me  breathing  my  heart  out  and  all  a-trem- 
ble  with  a  tenderness  for  you — no,  not  again,  cousin, 
not  yet." 

Then  slowly  the  full  wretchedness  of  guilt  burned 
me,  bone  and  soul,  and  what  I  had  done  seemed  a  black 
evil  to  a  maid  betrothed,  and  to  the  man  whose  wine 
had  quenched  my  thirst  an  hour  since. 

Something  of  my  thoughts  she  may  have  read  in 
my  bent  head  and  face  averted,  for  she  leaned  forward 
in  her  saddle,  and  drawing  me  by  the  arm,  turned  me 
parti}-  towards  her. 

"What  troubles  you?"  she  said,  anxiously. 

"My  treason  to  Sir  George." 

"What  treason?"  she  said,  amazed. 

"That  I— caressed  you." 

She  laughed  outright. 

"  Am  I  not  free  until  I  wed  ?  Do  you  imagine  I  should 
have  signed  my  liberty  away  to  please  Sir  George? 
Why,  cousin,  if  I  may  not  caress  whom  I  choose  and 
find  a  pleasure  in  the  way  you  use  me,  I  am  no  better 
than  the  winter  log  he  buys  to  toast  his  shins  at!" 

Then  she  grew  angry  in  her  impatience,  slapping 
her  bridle  down  to  range  her  horse  up  closer  to  mine. 

"Am  I  not  to  wed  him?"  she  said.  "Is  not  that 
enough?  And  I  told  him  so,  flatly,  I  warrant  you, 
when  Captain  Campbell  kissed  me  on  the  porch — 
which  maddened  me,  for  he  was  not  to  my  fancy — but 

137 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Sir  George  saw  him  and  there  was  like  to  be  a  silly 
scene  until  I  made  it  plain  that  I  would  endure  no  bonds 
before  1  \\orc  a  wedding  -ring  I"  She  buighed  deli- 
ciou  I  think  he  understands  now  that  I  am  n«»t 

yoked  until  I  bend  my  neck.  And  until  I  bend  it  1 
am  free.  So  if  I  please  you,  kiss  me,  .  .  .  but  leave  me 


a  little  breath  to  draw,  cousin,  .  .  .  and  a  saddle 
to.  ...  Now  loose  me  —  for  the  forest  ends!" 

A  faint  red  light  grew  in  the  woodland  gloom  ;  a  rush- 
ing noise  like  swiftly  flowing  water  filled  my  ears  — 
or  was  it  the  blood  that  surged  singing  through  my 
heart? 

"Broadalbin  Bush,"  she  murmured,  clearing  her 
eyes  of  the  clouded  hair  and  feeling  t  stirrups 

with  small,  moccasined  toes.  '     Now  we  hear 

the   Komyetto  roaring  btl  hill.     See,  con 

I  sunset,  the  west  blazes,  all  heaven  is  afire!  Ah  I 
what  sorcery  has  turned  the  world  to  paradise  —  riding 
this  day  with  you?" 

turned  in  her  saddle  with  an  e 

pressed  her  outstretched  hand  against  my  lips,  ilu-n, 
gathering  bridle,  launched  her  horse  straight  through 
the  underbrush,  out  into  a  pasture  where,  across  a 
naked  hill,  a  few  log-houses  reddened  in  the  sunset. 

re  huntf  t  smell  of  sweet-brier  as  we 

drew  bridle  before  a  cabin  under  the  hill     I  leaned  ' 
and  plucked  a  handful  of  the  leaves,  bruising  them  in 
my  palm  to  savor  v  perfum 

A  man  came  to  the  door  of  the  cabin  and  stared  at 
us;  a  tap-room  sluggard,  a-sunning  on  the  west  fi  : 
rail,  chewed  his  cud  solemnly  and  watched  us  with 
watery  eyes. 

"Andrew  Bowman,  have  you  seen  aught  to  fright 
folk  on  the  mountain?"  asked  Dorothy,  gravely. 

The  man  in  the  doorway  shook  his  head.     I 

138 


HIDDEN    FIRE 

the  cabins  near  by  a  few  men  and  women  trooped  out 
into  the  road  and  hastened  towards  us.  One  of  the 
houses  bore  a  bush,  and  I  saw  two  men  peering  at  us 
through  the  open  window,  pewters  in  hand. 

"Good  people/'  said  Dorothy,  quietly,  "the  patroon 
sends  you  word  of  a  strange  smoke  seen  this  day  in 
the  hills." 

"There's  smoke  there  now,"  I  said,  pointing  into 
the  sunset. 

At  that  moment  Peter  Van  Horn  galloped  up,  halt- 
ed, and  turned  his  head,  following  the  direction  of 
my  outstretched  arm.  Others  came,  blinking  into  the 
ruddy  evening  glow,  craning  their  necks  to  see,  and 
from  the  wretched  tavern  a  lank  lout  stumbled  forth, 
rifle  shouldered,  pewter  a-slop,  to  learn  the  news  that 
had  brought  us  hither  at  that  hour. 

"It  is  mist,"  said  a  woman;  but  her  roice  trembled 
as  she  said  it. 

"It  is  smoke,"  growled  Van  Horn.  "Read  it,  you 
who  can." 

Whereat  the  fellow  in  the  tavern  window  fell  a-laugh- 
ing  and  called  down  to  his  companion :  "  Francy  Mc- 
Craw!  Francy  McCrawl  The  Brand t-Meester  says  a 
Mohawk  fire  burns  in  the  north!" 

"  I  hear  him,"  cried  McCraw,  draining  his  pewter. 

Dorothy  turned  sharply.  "Oh,  is  that  you,  Mc- 
Craw? What  brings  you  to  the  Bush?" 

The  lank  fellow  turned  his  wild,  blue  eyes  on  her,  then 
gazed  at  the  smoke.  Some  of  the  men  scowled  at  him. 

"  Is  that  smoke?"  I  asked,  sharply.  "  Answer  me, 
McCraw!" 

"  A  canna'  deny  it,"  he  said,  with  a  mad  chuckle. 

"  Is  it  Indian  smoke?"  demanded  Van  Horn. 

"  Aweel,"  he  replied,  craning  his  skinny  neck  and 
cocking  his  head  impudently — "aweel,  a'll  admit  that, 
too.  It's  Indian  smoke;  a  canna  deny  it,  no." 

139 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"Is  it  a  Mohawk  signal?'1  I  asked,  bluntly. 

At  which  he  burst  out  into  a  crowing  laugh. 

"What  does  he  say?"  called  out  the  man  from  the 
tavern.  "What  does  he  say,  Francy  McCraw?" 

Me  says  it  maun  be  Mohawk  smoke,  Danny  Red- 
stock/' 

"And  what  if  it  is?"  blustered  Redstock, shouldering 
way  to  McCraw,  rifle  in  hand.     "Keep  your  black 
looks  for  your  neighbors,  Andrew  Bowman.     What 
have  we  to  do  with  your  Mohawk  fires?" 

I  Icrman  Salisbury!"  cried  Bowman  to  a  neighbor, 
"do  you  hear  what  this  Tory  renegade  says?" 

"Quiet!     Quut,  tluiv      said  Redstock,  swaggt 
out  into  the  road.     "  Francy  McCraw,  our  good  neigh- 
bors are  woful  perplexed  by  that  thread  o'  birch  smoke 
yonder." 

"  Then  tell  the  feckless  fools  tae  watch  it!"  screamed 
McCraw,  seizing  his  rifle  and  menacing  the  little  throng 
of  men  and  women  who  had  closed  swiftly  in  on  him 
"Hands  off  me,  Johnny  Putnam— back,  for  your  life. 
Charley  Cadyl  Ay,  stare  at  the  smoke  till  ye're  eyes 
I>  frae  th'  sockets!  But  no;  there's  some  foulk  ill 
tak'  nae  warnin'l" 

He  backed  off  down  the  road,  followed  by  Redstock, 

ies  cocked. 

"  An'  ye'll  bear  me  out,"  he  shouted,  "  that  there's 
t  lu  in  wha'  hear  these  words  now  shall  meet  their  weirds 
ere  a  hunter's  moon  is  wast 

He  laughed  his  insane  laugh  and,  throwing  his  rifle 
over  his  shoulder,  halted,  facing  us 

"Hae  ye  no  heard  o'  Catrine  Montour?"  he  jeered. 
"She'll  come  in  the  night,  Andrew  Bowman!     L< 
mon,  but  she's  a  grewsome  carlm',  wi   the  witch-locks 
hangin'  to  her  neck  an'  her  twa  een  blazm  '  ' 

"You  drive  us  out  to-night!"  shouted  Redstock. 
"  We'll  remember  it  when  Brant  is  in  the  hil 

140 


HIDDEN    FIRE 

"The  wolf-yelp!  Clan  o'  the  wolf!*'  screamed  Mo 
Craw.  "  Woe !  Woe  to  Breadalbane !  Tis  the  pibroch 
o'  Glencoe  shall  wake  ye  to  the  woods  afire!  Be 
warned!  Be  warned,  for  ye  stand  knee-deep  in  ye're 
shrouds!" 

In  the  ruddy  dusk  their  dark  forms  turned  to  shad- 
ows and  were  gone. 

Van  Horn  stirred  in  his  saddle,  then  shook  his  shoul- 
ders as  though  freeing  them  from  a  weight. 

"Now  you  have  it,  you  Broadalbin  men/'  he  said, 
grimly.  "Go  to  the  forts  while  there's  time." 

In  the  darkness  around  us  children  began  to  whim- 
per; a  woman  broke  down,  sobbing. 

"  Silence!"  cried  Bowman,  sternly.  And  to  Dorothy, 
who  sat  quietly  on  her  horse  beside  him,  "  Say  to  the 
patroon  that  we  know  our  enemies.  And  you,  Peter 
Van  Horn,  on  whichever  side  you  stand,  we  men  of 
the  Bush  thank  you  and  this  young  lady  for  your 
coming." 

And  that  was  all.  In  silence  we  wheeled  our  horses 
northward,  Van  Horn  riding  ahead,  and  passed  out  of 
that  dim  hamlet  which  lay  already  in  the  shadows  of 
an  unknown  terror. 

Behind  us,  as  we  looked  back,  one  or  two  candles 
flickered  in  cabin  windows,  pitiful,  dim  lights  in  the 
vast,  dark  ocean  of  the  forest.  Above  us  the  stars 
grew  clearer.  A  vesper-sparrow  sang  its  pensive  song. 
Tranquil,  sweet,  the  serene  notes  floated  into  silver 
echoes  never-ending,  till  it  seemed  as  if  the  starlight 
all  around  us  quivered  into  song. 

I  touched  Dorothy,  riding  beside  me,  white  as  a  spirit 
in  the  pale  radiance,  and  she  turned  her  sweet,  fearless 
face  to  mine. 

"There  is  a  sound,"  I  whispered,  "very  far  away." 

She  laid  her  hand  in  mine  and  drew  bridle,  listening. 
Van  Horn,  too,  had  halted. 

141 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Far  in  the  forest  the  sound  stirred  the  silence;  snft, 
stealthy,  nearer,  nearer,  till  it  grew  into  a  fuller.  Sud- 
denly Van  Horn's  horse  reared. 

Its  there!  it's  there!"  he  cried,  hoarsely,  as  our 
horses  swung  round  in  terror. 

"  Lookl"   muttered   Dorothy. 

Then  a  thing  occurred  that  stopped  my  heart's  blood. 
For  straight  through  the  forest  came  running  a  dark- 
shape,  a  squattering  thing  that  passed  us  i  >uld 
draw  breath  to  shriek;  animal,  human,  or  spirit.  I 
knew  not,  but  it  ran  on,  thuddy- thud,  thuddy-  thud  ! 
and  we  struggling  with  our  frantic  horses  to  ma 
them  ere  they  dashed  us  lifeless  a  morn:  UK-  trees. 

"Jesu!"  gasped  Van  Horn,  dragging  his  powerful 
horse  back  into  the  road.  "Can  you  make  aught  o' 
yonder  fearsome  thing,  like  a  wart-toad  scrabbling  <>n 
two  le^ 

Dorothy,  teeth  set,  drove  her  heels  into  her  gray's 
ribs  and  forced  him  to  where  my  mare  stood  all 
a-quiver, 

.:  from  hell,"  panted  Van  Horn,  flighting 
•and  wrist  with  his  roan.      "  My  nagshiesat  nn 
bear  nor  wolf  1     Look  at  him  no 

"Nor  mine  at  anything  save  a  savage,"  said  I,  fear- 
fully peering  behind  me  while  my  maiv  trembled  un- 
der me. 

"I  think  we  have  seen  a  savage,  that  is  all,  ft  11 
Dorothy's  calm  voice.  "  I  think  we  have  seen  Catrine 

At  the  name,  Van  Horn  swore  steadily. 

"  If  that  be  the  witch  Montour,  she  runs  like  a  «  ! 
man  with  the  fiery  cross,"  I  said,  shuddering. 

"  And  that  is  like  to  be  her  business,     muttered  Van 
Horn.     "The  painted  forest-men  are  in  tin  hill .-,  and  if 
Senecas, Cayugas,  and  Onondagas  do  not  know  it 
night,  it  will  be  no  fault  of  Catrine  Montour." 

142 


HIDDEN    FIRE 

"Ride  on,  Peter/'  said  Dorothy,  and  checked  her 
horse  till  my  mare  came  abreast. 

"Are  you  afraid?"  I  whispered. 

"Afraid?  No!"  she  said,  astonished.  "What 
should  arouse  fear  in  me?" 

"Your  common-sense!"  I  said,  impatiently,  irritated 
to  rudeness  by  the  shocking  and  unearthly  spectacle 
which  had  nigh  unnerved  me.  But  she  answered  very 
sweetly : 

"  If  I  fear  nothing,  it  is  because  there  is  nothing  that 
I  know  of  in  the  world  to  fright  me.  I  remember,"  she 
added,  gravely,  " '  A  thousand  shall  fall  at  my  side 
and  ten  thousand  at  my  right  hand.  And  it  shall 
not  come  nigh  me.'  How  can  I  fear,  believing  that?" 

She  leaned  from  her  saddle  and  I  saw  her  eyes  search* 
ing  my  face  in  the  darkness. 

"Silly,"  she  said,  tenderly,  "I  have  no  fear  save 
that  you  should  prove  unkind." 

"Then  give  yourself  to  me,  Dorothj,"  I  said,  hold- 
ing her  imprisoned. 

"How  can  I?    You  have  me." 

"I  mean  forever." 

"But  I  have." 

"I  mean  in  wedlock!"  I  whispered,  fierce!/. 

"How  can  I,  silly — I  am  promised!" 

"Can  I  not  stir  you  to  love  me?"  I  said. 

"To  love  you?  .  .  .  Better  than  I  do?  .  .  .  You  may 
try." 

"Then  wed  me!" 

"  If  I  were  wed  to  you  would  I  lore  you  better  than 
I  do?"  she  asked. 

"Dorothy,  Dorothy,"  I  begged,  holding  her  fast, 
"wed  me;  I  love  you." 

She  swayed  back  into  her  saddle,  breaking  my  clasp. 

"You  know  I  cannot,"  she  said.  .  .  .  Then,  almost 
tenderly:  "Do  you  truly  desire  it?  It  is  so  dear  to 

143 


THE    MAID- AT- ARMS 

hear  you  say  it — and  I  have  heard  the  words  often 
enough,  too,  but  never  as  you  say  them.  ...  I  lad 
you  asked  me  in  December,  ere  I  was  in  honor  bound. 

.  But  I  am  promised ;  .  .  .  only  a  word,  but  it  holds 
me  like  a  chain.  .  .  .  Dear  lad,  forget  it.  ...  Use  me 
kindly  .  .  Teach  me  to  lo\  <. ,  .  .  an  unresisting  pu- 
pil,...  for  all  life  is  too  short  for  me  to  learn  in, ...  alas! 

.  God  guard  us  both  from  love's  unhappiness  and 
grant  us  only  its  sweetness — which  you  have  taught 
me;  to  \vliu  h  I  am — I  am  awaking, .  .  .  after  all  these 
years, .  .  .  after  all  these  years  without  you. 

•  .  .  .  . 

Perhaps  it  were  kinder  to  let  me  deep.  ...  I  am  but 
half  awake  to  love. 

.  • 

Is  it  best  to  wake  me,  after  all?  Is  it  too  late?  .  .  .  Draw 
bridle  in  the  starlight  Look  at  me.  ...  It  is  too  late, 
for  I  shall  never  sleep  again. " 


X 

TWO  LESSONS 

FOR  two  whole  days  I  did  not  see  my  cousin  Doro- 
thy, she  lying  abed  with  hot  and  aching  head,  and 
the  blinds  drawn  to  keep  out  all  light.  So  I  had  time 
to  consider  what  we  had  said  and  done,  and  to  what 
we  stood  committed. 

Yet,  with  time  heavy  on  my  hands  and  full  leisure 
to  think,  I  could  make  nothing  of  those  swift,  fevered 
hours  together,  nor  what  had  happened  to  us  that  the 
last  moments  should  have  found  us  in  each  other's 
arms,  her  tear-stained  eyes  closed,  her  lips  crushed  to 
mine.  For,  within  that  same  hour,  at  table,  she  told 
Sir  Lupus  to  my  very  face  that  she  desired  to  wed  Sir 
George  as  soon  as  might  be,  and  would  be  content  with 
nothing  save  that  Sir  Lupus  despatch  a  messenger  to 
the  pleasure  house,  bidding  Sir  George  dispose  of  his 
affairs  so  that  the  marriage  fall  within  the  first  three 
days  of  June. 

I  could  not  doubt  my  own  ears,  yet  could  scarce 
credit  my  shocked  senses  to  hear  her;  and  I  had  sat 
there,  now  hot  with  anger,  now  in  cold  amazement; 
not  touching  food  save  with  an  effort  that  cost  me  all 
my  self-command. 

As  for  Sir  Lupus,  his  astonishment  and  delight  dis- 
gusted me,  for  he  fell  a-blubbering  in  his  joy,  loading  his 
daughter  with  caresses,  breaking  out  into  praises  of 
her,  lauding  above  all  her  filial  gratitude  and  her  con- 
stancy to  Sir  George,  whom  he  also  larded  and  smeared 

145 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

with  compliments  till  his  eulogium,  buttered  all  too 
thick  for  my  weakened  stomach,  drove  me  from  the 
table  to  pace  the  dark  porch  and  strive  to  reconcile 
all  these  warring  memories  a-battle  in  my  swimming 
brain 

What  demon  possessed  her  to  throw  away  time,  when 
time  was  our  most  precious  ally,  our  only  hope!  With 
time — if  she  truly  loved  me — what  might  not  be  done? 
And  here,  too,  was  another  ally  swiftly  coming  to  our 
aid  on  Time's  own  wm^s— the  war! — whose  far  breath 
already  fanned  the  Mohawk  smoke  on  the  north 
hills!  And  still  another  friendly  ally  stood  to  aid  us 
— absence!  For,  with  Sir  George  away,  plunged  into 
new  scenes,  new  hopes,  new  ambitions,  he  might  well 
change  in  his  affections.  An  officer,  and  a  successful 
one,  rising  higher  every  day  in  the  esteem  of  his  country- 
men,  should  find  all  paths  open,  all  doors  unlocked, 
and  a  gracious  welcome  among  those  great  folk  of 
New  Y<  .whose  prii.  -lent  living  mi 

not  only  be  justified,  but  even  titled  under  a  new  regime 
and  a  new  monarch 

These  were   the  half -formed,  maddened  thoughts 
through  my  mind  as  I  paced  tin- 
porch  that  night;  and  I  think  they  were,  perhaps,  the 
-t  unworthy  thoughts  that  ever  tempted  me.     For  I 
hated  Sir  George  and  wished  him  a  quick  flight  to 
immortality  unless  he  changed  in  his  desire  for  wed- 
lock with  my  cousin 

Gnawing  my  lips  in  growing  rage  I  saw  the  messen- 
ger for  the  pleasure  house  mount  and  gallop  out  of  the 
kade,  and  I  wished  him  evil  chance  and  a  fall  to 
dash  his  senses  out  ere  he  rode  up  with  his  cursed  mes- 
sage to  Sir  George's  door. 

Passion  blinded  and  deafened  me  to  all  whispers  of 
decency;  conscience  lay  stunned  within  me,  and  I 
think  I  know  now  what  black  obsession  drives  men's 

U6 


TWO    LESSONS 

bodies  into  murder  and  their  souls  to  punishments 
eternal. 

Quivering  from  head  to  heel,  now  hot,  now  cold,  and 
strangling  with  the  fierce  desire  for  her  whom  I  was 
losing  more  hopelessly  every  moment,  I  started  aim- 
lessly through  the  starlight,  pacing  the  stockade  like 
a  caged  beast,  and  I  thought  my  swelling  heart  would 
choke  me  if  it  broke  not  to  ease  my  breath. 

So  this  was  love!  A  ghastly  thing,  God  wot,  to 
transform  an  honest  man,  changing  and  twisting 
right  and  wrong  until  the  threads  of  decency  and  duty 
hung  too  hopelessly  entangled  for  him  to  follow  or 
untwine.  Only  one  thing  could  I  see  or  understand : 
I  desired  her  whom  I  loved  and  was  now  fast  losing 
forever. 

Chance  and  circumstance  had  enmeshed  me ;  in  vain 
I  struggled  in  the  net  of  fate,  bruised,  stunned,  con- 
fused with  grief  and  this  new  fire  of  passion  which  had 
flashed  up  around  me  until  I  had  inhaled  the  flames 
and  must  forever  bear  their  scars  within  as  long  as  my 
seared  heart  could  pulse. 

As  I  stood  there  under  the  dim  trees,  dumb,  miser- 
able, straining  my  ears  for  the  messenger's  return, 
came  my  cousin  Dorothy  in  the  pale,  flowered  gown 
she  wore  at  supper,  and  ere  she  perceived  me  I  saw 
her  searching  for  me,  treading  the  new  grass  without 
a  sound,  one  hand  pressed  to  her  parted  lips. 

When  she  saw  me  she  stood  still,  and  her  hands  fell 
1  loosely  to  her  side. 

"Cousin/'  she  said,  in  a  faint  voice. 

And,  as  I  did  not  answer,  she  stepped  nearer  till  I 
could  see  her  blue  eyes  searching  mine. 

"What  have  you  done!"  I  cried,  harshly. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said. 

"I  know,"  I  retorted,  fiercely.  "Time  was  all  we 
had — a  few  poor  hours — a  day  or  two  together.  And 

147 


THE   MAID-AT-ARMS 

with  time  there  was  chance,  and  with  chance,  hope. 
You  have  killed  all  ton 

"No;  .  .  .  there  was  no  chance;  there  is  no  longer 
any  time;  there  never  was  any  hoj^. " 

"There  was  hope!"  I  said,  bitterly. 

"No,  there  was  none,"  she  murmured. 

"Then  why  did  you  tell  me  that  you  were  free  till 
the  yoke  locked  you  to  him?  Why  did  you  desire  to 
love?  Why  did  you  bid  me  teach  v<  tt?  Why  did  you 
consent  to  my  lips,  my  arms?  Why  did  you  awake 
me?" 

"God  knows,"  she  said,  faintly. 

"Is  that  your  defence?"  I  asked.  "Have  you  no 
defence?" 

"  None.  ...  I  had  never  loved.  ...  I  found  you  kind 
and  I  had  known  no  man  like  you.  .  .  .  Every  moment 
with  you  entranced  me  till, ...  I  don't  know  why, 
that  sweet  madness  came  upon  ...  us  ...  which  can 

cr  come  again — which  must  never  come.  ...  1 
give  me.    I  did  not  understand.    Love  was  a  word  to 

"  Dorothy,  Dorothy,  what  have  I  done!"  I  stammered. 

"Not  you,  but  I,  ...  and  now  it  is  plain  to  me  why, 
un wedded,  I   stand  yoked    together  with  my  hoi 
and  you  stand  apart,  fettered  to  yours.  .  .  .  We  have 
shaken  our  chains  in  play,  the  links  still  hold  firm 
and  bright;  but  if  we  break  them,  then,  as  they  snap, 
our  honor  dies  forever.    For  what  I  have  done  in  idle 
ignorance  forgive  me,  and  leave  me  to  my  penance, . 
which  must  last  for  all  my  life,  cousin.  .  .  .  And  you 
\ull  forget  .  .  .  Hush!  dearest  lad,  and  let  me  speak. 
Well,  then  I  will  say  that  I  pray  you  may  forgetl     Well, 
then  I  will  not  say  that  to  grieve  you.  ...  I  u  i  h 
to  remember — yet  not  know  the  pain  that  I — " 

"Dorothy,  Dorothy,  do  you  still  love  me?" 

"Oh,  I  do  love  you!  .  .  .  No,  no!     I  ask  you  to  spare 

148 


TWO    LESSONS 

me  even  the  touch  of  your  hand !  I  ask  it,  I  beg  you 
to  spare  met  I  implore —  Be  a  shield  to  me  1  Aid  me, 
cousin.  I  ask  it  for  the  Ormond  honor  and  for  the 
honor  of  the  roof  that  shelters  us  both!  .  .  .  Now  do 
you  understand?  .  .  .  Oh,  I  knew  you  to  be  all  that  I 
adore  and  worship! 

•  •••••• 

Our  fault  was  in  our  ignorance.     How  could  we  know 
of  that  hidden  fire  within  us,  stirring  its  chilled  em- 
bers in  all  innocence  until  the  flames  flashed  out  and 
clothed  us  both  in  glory,  cousin?    Heed  me,  lest  it  turn 
to  flames  of  hell! 

•  ••••«• 
And  now,  dear  lad,  lest  you  should  deem  me  mad  to  cut 
short  the  happy  time  we  had  to  hope  for,  I  must  tell 
you  what  I  have  never  told  before.     All  that  we  have 
in  all  the  world  is  by  charity  of  Sir  George.     He  stood 
in  the  breach  when  the  Cosby  heirs  made  ready  to 
foreclose  on  father;  he  held  off  the  Van  Rensselaers; 
he  threw  the  sop  to  Billy  Livingston  and  to  that  great 
villain,  Klock.     To-day,  unsecured,  his  loans  to  my 
father,  still  unpaid,  have  nigh  beggared  him.     And 
the  little  he  has  he  is  about  to  risk  in  this  war  whose 
tides  are  creeping  on  us  through  this  very  night. 

And  when  he  honored  me  by  asking  me  in  marriage, 
I,  knowing  all  this,  knowing  all  his  goodness  and  his 
generosity  —  though  he  was  not  aware  I  knew  it  —  I 
\vus  thankful  to  say  yes — deeming  it  little  enough  to 
please  him — and  I  not  knowing  what  love  meant — " 
Her  soft  voice  broke ;  she  laid  her  hands  on  her  eyes, 
and  stood  so,  speaking  blindly.  "What  can  I  do, 
cousin?  What  can  I  do?  Tell  me!  I  love  you.  Tell 
me,  use  me  kindly ;  teach  me  to  do  right  and  keep  my 
honor  bright  as  you  could  desire  it  were  I  to  be  your 
wife!" 

I4Q 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

It  was  that  appeal,  I  think,  that  brought  me  1 
through  the  distorted  shadows  of  my  passion ;  through 
the  dark  pit  of  envy,  past  snares  of  jealousy  and  maU 
ice,  and  the  traps  and  pitfalls  dug  by  Satan,  safe  to 
UK  trembling  rock  of  honor  once  again. 

Like  a  blind  man  healed  by  miracle,  yet  still  gm 
in  the  precious  light  that  mazed  him,  so  I  peering  with 
aching  eyes  for  those  threads  to  guide  me  in  my  stumud 
perplexity.  But  when  at  last  I  felt  their  touch,  I  found 
I  held  one  already — the  thread  of  hope — and  wluthcr 
for  good  or  evil  I  did  not  drop  it,  but  gathered  all  to- 
gether and  wove  them  to  a  rope  to  hold  by. 

"  What  is  it  I  must  swear/'  I  asked,  cold  to  the  knees, 

"  Never  again  to  kiss  me." 

" Never  again  " 

"Nor  to  caress  me." 

"  Nor  to  caress  \ 

"  Nor  speak  of  love." 

*  Nor  speak  of  lov< 

"  And  .  .  .  that  is  all/'  she  faltered. 

*  No,  not  all.    I  swear  to  love  you  always,  never  to 
forget  you,  never  to  prove  unworthy  in  your  eyes, 
never  to  wed ;  living,  to  honor  you ;  dying,  with  your 
name  upon  my  lips." 

She  had  stretched  out  her  arms  towards  me  as 
though  warning  me  to  stop;  but,  as  I  spoke  slowly, 
weighing  each  word  and  its  cost,  her  hands  trembled 
and  sought  each  other  so  that  she  stood  looking  at 
.  fingers  interlocked  and  her  sweet  face  as  white  as 
death. 

And  after  a  long  time  she  came  to  me,  and,  raising 
my  hands,  kissed  them;  and  I  touched  her  hair  \ 
dumb  lips;  and  she  stole  away  through  the  starlight 
like  a  white  ghost  returning  to  its  tornh. 

And  long  after,  long,  long  after,  as  I  stood  there, 
broke  on  my  wrapt  ears  the  far  stroke  of  horse's  hoofs, 


TWO    LESSONS 

nearer,  nearer,  until  the  black  bulk  of  the  rider  rose  up 
in  the  night  and  Sir  Lupus  came  to  the  porch. 

"  Eh!  What?"  he  cried.  "  Sir  George  away  with  the 
Palatine  rebels?  Where?  Gone  to  Stanwix?  Now 
Heaven  have  mercy  on  him  for  a  madman  who  mixes 
in  this  devil's  brew!  And  he'll  drown  me  with  him, 
too!  Dammy,  they'll  say  that  I'm  in  with  him.  But 
I'm  not!  Curse  me  if  I  am.  I'm  neutral  —  neither 
rebel  nor  Tory  —  and  I'll  let  'em  know  it,  too;  only  de- 
siring quiet  and  peace  and  a  fair  word  for  all.  Dam- 
nation!" 

And  so  had  ended  that  memorable  day  and  night; 
and  now  for  two  whole  wretched  days  I  had  not  seen 
Dorothy,  nor  heard  of  her  save  through  Ruyven,  who 
brought  us  news  that  she  lay  on  her  bed  in  the  dark 
with  no  desire  for  company. 

"  There  is  a  doctor  at  Johnstown/'  he  said  ;  "  but 
Dorothy  refuses,  saying  that  she  is  only  tired  and  re- 
quires peace  and  rest.  I  don't  like  it,  Cousin  George. 
Never  have  I  seen  her  ill,  nor  has  any  one.  Suppose 
you  look  at  her,  will  }Tou?" 

"  If  she  will  permit  me,"  I  said,  slowly.     "  Ask  her, 


But  he  returned,  shaking  his  head,  and  I  sat  down 
once  more  upon  the  porch  to  think  of  her  and  of  all  I 
loved  in  her;  and  how  I  must  strive  to  fashion  my  life 
so  that  I  do  naught  that  might  shame  me  should  she 
know. 

Now  that  it  was  believed  that  factional  bickering 
between  the  inhabitants  of  Try  on  County  might  lead, 
in  the  immediate  future,  to  something  more  serious 
than  town  brawls  and  tavern  squabbles;  and,  more- 
over, as  the  Iroquois  agitation  had  already  resulted 
in  the  withdrawal  to  Fort  Niagara  of  the  main  body 
of  the  Mohawk  nation  —  for  what  ominous  purpose  it 

151 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

might  be  easy  to  guess — Sir  Lupus  forbade  the  chil- 

i  to  go  a-roaming  outside  his  own  bounds! 

Further,  he  had  cautioned  his  servants  and  tenants 

out  of  bounds,  to  avoid  public  houses  like 

the  "  Turtle-dove  and  Olive,"  and  to  refrain  from  busy- 

themselves  about  matters  in  which  they  had  no 

Yet  that  very  day,  spite  of  the  patroon's  orders, 
when  General  Schuyler  s  militia-call  went  out.  o 
half  of  his  tenantry  disappeared  overnight,  abandon- 
ing everything  save  their  live-stock  and  a  rough  cart 
heaped    with   household    furniture;    journeyin 
women  and  children,  goods  and  chattels,  towards  the 
nearest  block-house  or  fort,  there  to  deposit  all  except 
powder-horn,  flint,  and  rifle,  and  join  the  district  regi- 
ment now  laboring  with  pick  and  shovel  on  the  works 
at  Fort  Stanwix. 

As  I  sat  there  on  the  porch,  wn  trlud,  restless,  de- 
bating what  course  I  should  take  in  the  presence  of 

growing  disorder  which,  aft  1  have  said,  had 
ready  invaded  our  own  tenantry,  came  Sir   Lupus 
a-waddling,  pipe  in  hand,  and  Cato  bearing  his  huge 
i  hair  so  he  mitfht  sit  in  the  sun,  which  was  warm  on 
the  porch. 

"  You've  heard  what  my  tenant  rascals  have  done?" 
he  grunted,  settling  in  his  chair  and  stretching  his  fat 
Itg* 

Yes,  sir,"  I  said. 

"Whatd'yethi  t?    Kh?    Whatd'ycih 

is  very  pitiful  and  sad  to  see  these  poor 
creatures  leaving  their  little  farms  to  face  the  British 
regulars — and  starvation." 

ice  the  devil!"  he  snorted.     "  Nobody  forces  'cm!" 

"The  greater  honor  due  them,"  I  retorted. 

"  Honor  1    Fol-d  i  I  lad  it  been  any  other  pa troon 

but  me,  he'd  turn  his  manor-house  into  a  court-house. 


TWO    LESSONS 

arrest  'em,  try  'em,  and  hang  a  few  for  luck!  In  the 
old  days,  I'll  warrant  you,  the  Cosbys  would  have 
stood  no  such  nonsense — no,  nor  the  Livingstons,  nor 
the  Van  Cortlandts.  A  hundred  lashes  here  and  there, 
a  debtor's  jail,  a  hanging  or  two,  would  have  made 
things  more  cheerful.  But  I,  curse  me  if  I  could  ever 
bring  myself  to  use  my  simplest  prerogatives;  I  can't 
whip  a  man,  no!  I  can't  hang  a  man  for  anything— 
even  a  sheep-thief  has  his  chance  with  me — like  that 
great  villain,  Billy  Bones,  who  turned  renegade  and 
joined  Danny  Redstock  and  the  McCraw." 

He  snorted  in  self-contempt  and  puffed  savagely  at 
his  clay  pipe. 

"la  patroon?  Dammy,  I'm  an  old  woman  1  Get 
me  my  knitting!  I  want  my  knitting  and  a  sunny 
spot  to  mumble  my  gums  and  wait  for  noon  and  a  dish 
o'  porridge!  .  .  .  George,  my  rents  are  cut  in  half,  and 
half  my  farms  left  to  the  briers  and  wolves  in  one  day, 
because  his  Majesty,  General  Schuyler,  orders  his 
Highness,  Colonel  Dayton,  to  call  out  half  the  nnliti«« 
to  make  a  fort  for  his  Eminence,  Colonel  Gansevoort!" 

"At  Stanwix?" 

"  They  call  it  Fort  Schuyler  now — after  his  Highness 
in  Albany." 

"Sir  Lupus,"  I  said,  "if  it  is  true  that  the  British 
mean  to  invade  us  here  with  Brant's  Mohawks,  there  is 
but  one  bulwark  between  Tryon  County  and  the  enemy, 
and  that  is  Fort  Stanwix.  Why,  in  Heaven's  name, 
should  it  not  be  defended?  If  this  British  officer  and 
his  renegades,  regulars,  and  Indians  take  Stanwix 
and  fortify  Johnstown,  the  whole  country  will  swarm 
with  savages,  outlaws,  and  a  brutal  soldiery  already 
hardened  and  made  callous  by  a  year  of  frontier  war- 
fare! 

"Can  you  not  understand  this,  sir?  Do  you  think 
it  possible  for  these  blood-drunk  ruffians  to  roam  the 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Mohawk  and  Sacandaira  valleys  and  respect  you  and 
yours  just  because  you  say  you  are  neutral?  Turn 
loose  a  pack  of  famished  panthers  in  a  common  pasture 
and  mark  your  sheep  with  your  device  and  see  h«»\v 
many  are  alive  at  daybreak ' 

"Dammy,  sir!"  cried  Sir  Lupus,  "the  enemy  arc  Kd 
l>v  Hritish  m-Mtleinen." 

"Who  doubtless  will  keep  their  own  cuffs  clean  :  it 
were  shame  to  doubt  it'  But  if  the  Mohawks  m;uvh 
with  them  there'll  be  a  bloody  page  in  Tryon  County 
annals." 

"The  Mohawks  will  not  join!"  he  said,  violent lv. 
"  Has  not  Schuyler  held  a  council-fire  and  talked  wnh 
belts  to  the  entire  confederacy?" 

"The  confederacy  returned  no  belts,"  I  said, 
the  Mohawks  were  not  present." 

Kirkland  saw  Brant/'  he  persisted,  obstinate! v 

s,  and  sent  a  secret  report  to  Albany.     If  there 
had  been  good  news  in  that  report,  you  Tryon  County 
had  heard  it  long  since,  Sir  Lu 

ii  have  you  been  t.-i  11  he  sneered, 

removing  his  pipe  from  his  yellow  U 

With  one  of  your  tenants  yesterday,  a  certain 
Christian  Schell,  lately  returned  with  Stoner's  scout    ' 

"  And  what  did  Stoner's  men  see  in  the  northwest?" 
he  demanded,  con  tempt  uou 

"They  saw  half  a  thousand  Mohawks  with  eyes 
painted  in  black  circles  and  white.  Sir  Lupus." 

"  For  the  planting-dai  muttered. 

"  No,  Sir  Lupus.  The  castles  are  empty,  the  villages 
deserted.  There  is  not  one  Mohawk  left  on  their  an- 
cient lands,  there  is  not  one  seed  planted,  not  one  foot 
of  soil  cultivated,  not  one  apple-bough  grafted,  not  one 
fish-line  set! 

"And  you  tell  me  the  Mohawks  are  painted  for 
the  planting-dance,  in  black  and  white?  With  everv 

154 


TWO    LESSONS 

hatchet  shining  like  silver,  and  every  knife  ground  to 
a  razor-edge,  and  every  rifle  polished,  and  every  flint 
new?" 

"Who  saw  such  things?"  he  asked,  hoarsely. 

"Christian  Schell,  of  Stoner's  scout." 

"  Now  God  curse  them  if  they  lift  an  arm  to  harm  a 
Tryon  County  man!"  he  burst  out.  "I'll  not  believe 
it  of  the  British  gentlemen  who  differ  with  us  over 
taxing  tea!  No,  dammy  if  I'll  credit  such  a  mon- 
strous thing  as  this  alliance  I" 

"  Yet,  a  few  nights  since,  sir,  you  heard  Walter  Butler 
and  Sir  John  threaten  to  use  the  Mohawks." 

"And  did  not  heed  them!"  he  said,  angrily.  "It  is 
all  talk,  all  threats,  and  empty  warning.  I  tell  you 
they  dare  not  for  their  names'  sakes  employ  the  sav- 
ages against  their  own  kind — against  friends  who  think 
not  as  they  think  —  against  old  neighbors,  ay,  their 
own  kin! 

"Nor  dare  we.  Look  at  Schuyler — a  gentleman,  if 
ever  there  was  one  on  this  rotten  earth — standing, 
belts  in  hand,  before  the  sachems  of  the  confederacy, 
not  soliciting  Cayuga  support,  not  begging  Seneca 
aid,  not  proposing  a  foul  alliance  with  the  Onondagas ; 
but  demanding  right  manfully  that  the  confederacy 
remain  neutral ;  nay,  more,  he  repulsed  offers  of  war- 
riors from  the  Oneidas  to  scout  for  him,  knowing  what 
that  sweet  word  'scout9  implied — God  bless  him!  ...  I 
have  no  love  for  Schuyler.  .  .  .  He  lately  called  me 
'malt-worm/  and,  if  I'm  not  at  fault,  he  added,  'skin 
flint  Dutchman/  or  some  such  tribute  to  my  thrift. 
But  he  has  conducted  like  a  man  of  honor  in  this  Iro- 
quois  matter,  and  I  care  not  who  hears  me  say  it!" 

He  settled  himself  in  his  chair,  mumbling  in  a  rum- 
bling voice,  and  all  I  could  make  out  was  here  and 
there  a  curse  or  two  distributed  impartially  'twixt  Tory 
and  rebel  and  other  asses  now  untethered  in  the  world. 

155 


THE    iMAID-AT-ARMS 

"Well,  sir/'  I  said,  "  from  all  I  can  gather,  Burgoyne 
is  inarching  southward  through  the  lakes,  and  Clinton 
is  gathering  an  army  in  New  York  to  inarch  north  and 
meet  Burgoyne,  and  now  comes  this  Barry  St  Li 
on  the  flank,  aiming  to  join  the  others  at  Albany  a: 
taking  Stanwix  and  Johnstown  on  the  march — three 
spears  to  pierce  a  common  centre,  three  torches  to  fire 
three  valleys,  and  you  neutral  Tryon  men  in  UK  ivntrr, 
calm,  undismayed,  smoking  your  pipes  and  singing 
songs  of  peace  and  good-will  for  all  on  earth." 

"And  why  not,  sir!"  he  snapped. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Juggernaut?" 

"I've  heard  the  name — a  Frenchman,  waa  he  not ' 
I  think  he  burned  Schenectady." 

"No,  sir;  he  is  a  heathen  god/' 

*  And  what  the  devil,  sir,  has  Tryon  County  to  do 
with  heathen  gods!"  he  bawled. 

"You  shall  see  —  when  the  wheels  pass,"  I  said, 
gloomily. 

He  folded  his  fat  hands  over  his  stomach  and  smoked 

obstinate  silence.     I,  too,  was  silent;  again  a  faint 
disgust  for  this  man  seized  nu      Mow  noble  and  un- 
selfish now  appeared  the  conduct  of  those  poor  tenants 
of  his  who  had  abandoned  their  little  farms  to  am 
Schuyler's  call! — trudging  northward  with  wives  and 
babes,  trusting  to  God  for  bread  to  fall  like  manna  in 
this  wilderness  to  save  ilu-  frail  lives  of  tlun   1 
ones,  while  they  faced  the  trained  troops  of  Great  Brit- 
ain, and  perhaps  the  Iroquois. 

And  here  he  sat,  the  patroon,  sucking  his  pipe,  i 
ing  his  stomach;  too  cautious,  too  thrifty  to  stand  like 
a  man,  even  for  the  honor  of  his  own  roof-tree  I    Lx 
how  mean,  how  sordid  did   he  look  to  me,  sulking 
there,  his  mottled  double-chin     r»wded  out  upon 
stock,  his  bow-legs  \viiK-  t<>  c  radio  tlu  huge  belly,  his 
small  eyes  obstinately  a-squint  and  partly  shut,  which 


TWO    LESSONS 

lent  a  gross  shrewdness  to  the  expanse  of  fat,  almost 
baleful,  like  the  eye  of  a  squid  in  its  shapeless,  jellied 
body! 

"  What  are  your  plans?''  he  said,  abruptly. 

I  told  him  that,  through  Sir  George,  I  had  placed  mj 
poor  services  at  the  State's  disposal. 

"You  mean  the  rebel  State's  disposal?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  you  are  ready  to  enlist?" 

"Quite  ready,  Sir  Lupus." 

"  Only  awaiting  summons  from  Clinton  and  Schuy 
ler?"  he  sneered. 

"That  is  all,  sir." 

"  And  what  about  your  properties  in  Florida?" 

"I  can  do  nothing  there.  If  they  confiscate  them 
in  my  absence,  they  might  do  worse  were  I  to  go  back 
and  defy  them.  I  believe  my  life  is  worth  something 
to  our  cause,  and  it  would  be  only  to  waste  it  foolishly 
if  I  returned  to  fight  for  a  few  indigo-vats  and  cane- 
fields." 

"While  you  can  remain  here  and  fight  for  other 
people's  hen-coops,  eh?" 

"No,  sir;  only  to  take  up  the  common  quarrel  and 
stand  for  that  liberty  which  we  inherited  from  those 
who  now  seek  to  dispossess  us." 

"Quite  an  orator!"  he  observed,  grimly.  "The 
Ormonds  were  formerly  more  ready  with  their  swords 
than  with  their  tongues." 

"  I  trust  I  shall  not  fail  to  sustain  their  traditions," 
I  said,  controlling  my  anger  with  a  desperate  effort. 

He  burst  out  into  a  hollow  laugh. 

"There  you  go,  red  as  a  turkey-cock  and  madder 
than  a  singed  tree-cat!  George,  can't  you  let  me 
plague  you  in  comfort!  Dammy,  it's  undutiful!  For 
pity's  sake!  let  me  sneer — let  me  gibe  and  jeer  if  it 
eases  me." 

157 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

I  glared  at  him,  half  inclined  to  lautrh. 

;rse  it!"  he  said,  wrathfully,  "  I'm  serious      You 
don't  know  how  serious  I  am.     It's  no  laughing  mat- 
George.     I  must  do  something  to  ease  me!"     He 
burst  out  into  a  roa  -:ng  in  volleys. 

"D'  ye  think  I  wish  to  appear  contemptible'.'"   he 
shouted.     "D'  ye  think  I  like  to  sit   here  like  an  old 
wife,  scolding  in  one  breath  and  preaching  thrift   in 
next?     A  weak-kneed,  chicken-hvered,  while  IK  1 
lied  old  bullfrog  that  squeaks  and  jumps,  plunk!  into 
the  puddle  when  a  footstep  falls  in  the  grass! 
1  not  a  patroon?    Am  I  not  Dutch?    Granted  I'm 
and  slow  and  a  glutton,  and  lazy  as  a  wolverine.     I 
can  fight  like  one,  too!    Don't   make  any  mistake 
there,  Ceorget" 

broad  face  flushed  crimson,  his  lit  tie,  green  eyes 
snap|H/d  lire. 

" D'ye  thin  1  1   ve  a  fight  as  well  as  my  ru 

bor?    D'ye  think  I've  a  stomach  for  mMilts  and  flo 
and  winks  and  nudges?     Have  I  a  liver  to  sit  do 
sums  on  my  thumbs  when  these  irnpu<!ent  British  are 
kicking  my  people  out  of  their  own  doors?     Am  I  of  a 

i  ley  to  smile  and  bow,  and  swallow  and  digest 
orders  of  Tory  swashbucklers,  who  lay  down  a  rule  of 
conduct  for  men  who  should  be  framing  rules  of  c< 
mon  decency  for  them?     I)'  ye  think  I'm  a  snail  or  a 
potato  or  an  empty  pair  o'  breeches?    Damnation!" 

Rage  convulsed   him      He  recovered  his  self-com- 
mand slowly,  smashing  his  pij*   in  the  interval;  and 
I,  astonished  beyond  measure,  waited  for  the  expla 
tion  which  he  appeared  to  be  disposed  to  gn 

"  If  I'm  wh.r  he  said,  hoarsely,  "an  old 

ass  he-hawing  'Peace!  peace!  thrift!  thrift!'  it  is  be- 
cause I  must  and  not  because  the   music  pleases  me. 
And  I  had  not  meant  to  tell  you  why — for  none 
other  suspects  it — but  my  personal  honor  i*  at  stai 

158 


TWO    LESSONS 

r«m  in  debt  to  a  friend,  George,  and  unless  I  am  left  in 
I>eace  here  to  collect  my  tithes  and  till  my  fields  and 
run  my  mills  and  ship  my  pearl -ashes,  I  can  never 
hope  to  pay  a  debt  of  honor  incurred  —  and  which  I 
mean  to  pay,  if  I  live,  so  help  me  God ! 

"Lad,  if  this  house,  these  farms,  these  acres  were 
my  own,  do  you  think  I'd  hesitate  to  polish  up  that 
old  sword  yonder  that  my  father  carried  when  Sche- 
nectady  went  up  in  flames?  .  .  .  Know  me  better, 
George!  .  .  .  Know  that  this  condemnation  to  in- 
action is  the  bitterest  trial  I  have  ever  known.  How 
easy  it  would  be  for  me  to  throw  my  own  property  into 
one  balance,  my  sword  into  the  other,  and  say,  '  De- 
fend the  one  with  the  other  or  be  robbed  I'  But  I  can't 
throw  another  man's  lands  into  the  balance.  I  can't 
raise  the  war-yelp  and  go  careering  about  after  glory 
when  I  owe  every  shilling  I  possess  and  thousands 
more  to  an  honorable  and  generous  gentleman  who 
refused  all  security  for  the  loan  save  my  own  word  of 
honor. 

"  And  now,  simple,  brave,  high-minded  as  he  is,  he 
offers  to  return  me  my  word  of  honor,  free  me  from  his 
debt,  and  leave  me  unshackled  to  conduct  in  this  com- 
in-  war  as  I  see  fit. 

"  But  that  is  more  than  he  can  do,  George.  My 
word  once  pledged  can  only  be  redeemed  by  what  it 
stood  for,  and  he  is  powerless  to  give  it  back. 

"That  is  all,  sir.  .  .  .  Pray  think  more  kindly  of 
an  old  fool  in  future,  when  you  plume  yourself  upon 
your  liberty  to  draw  sword  in  the  most  just  cause  this 
world  has  ever  known." 

"  It  is  I  who  am  the  fool,  Sir  Lupus/'  I  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 


XI 

LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS 

{REMEMBER  it  was  the  last  day  of  May  before  I 
saw  my  cousin  Dorothy  again. 

Late  that  afternoon  I  had  taken  a  fishing-rod  and  a 
book.  The  Poems  of  Pansard,  and  had  set  out  for  the 
grist  mill  on  the  stream  below  the  log-bridge;  but  did 
not  go  by  road,  as  the  dust  was  deep,  so  instead  crossed 
the  meadow  and  entered  the  cool  thicket,  making  a 
shorter  route  to  the  stream. 

Through  the  woodland,  as  I  passed,  I  saw  violets 
hollows  and  blue  innocence  starring  moist  glades 
with  its  heavenly  color,  and  in  the  drier  woods  those 
slender-stemmed  blue  bell-flowers  which  some  call 
Venus 's  looking-glass. 

In  my  saddened  and  rebellious  heart  a  more  inno- 
cent passion  stirred  and  awoke — the  tender  pleasure 
1  have  always  found  in  seeking  out  those  shy  people 
of  the  forest,  the  wild  blossoms— a  harmless  pleasure, 
for  it  is  ever  my  habit  to  leave  them  undisturbed  upon 
their  stalks. 

Deeper  in  the  forest  pink  moccasin-flowers  bloomed 
among  rocks,  and  the  air  was  tinctured  with  a  honeyed 
smell  from  the  spiked  orchis  cradled  in  its  sheltering 
leaf  under  the  hemlock  shade. 

Once,  as  I  crossed  a  marshy  place,  about  me  floated 
a  violet  perfume,  and  I  was  at  a  loss  to  find  its  source 
until  I  espied  a  single  purple  blossom  of  the  Areth li- 
sa bedded  in  sturdy  thickets  of  rose -azalea,  faintly 

160 


LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS 

spicy,  and  all  humming  with  the  wings  of  plundering 
bees. 

Underfoot  my  shoes  brushed  through  spikenard, 
and  fell  silently  on  carpets  of  moss-pinks,  and  once  I 
saw  a  matted  bed  of  late  Mayflower,  and  the  forest 
dusk  grew  sweeter  and  sweeter,  saturating  all  the 
woodland,  until  each  breath  I  drew  seemed  to  intoxi- 
cate. 

Spring  languor  was  in  earth  and  sky,  and  in  my 
bones,  too ;  yet,  through  this  Northern  forest  ever  and 
anon  came  faint  reminders  of  receding  snows,  melting 
beyond  the  Canadas — delicate  zephyrs,  tinctured  with 
the  far  scent  of  frost,  flavoring  the  sun's  balm  at  mo- 
ments with  a  sharper  essence. 

Now  traversing  a  ferny  space  edged  in  with  sweet- 
brier,  a  breeze  accompanied  me,  caressing  neck  and 
hair,  stirring  a  sudden  warmth  upon  my  cheek  like  a 
breathless  maid  close  beside  me,  whispering. 

Then  through  the  rustle  of  leafy  depths  1  heard  the 
stream's  laughter,  very  far  away,  and  1  turned  to  the 
left  across  the  moss,  walking  more  swiftly  till  I  came 
to  the  log-bridge  where  the  road  crosses.  Below  me 
leaped  the  stream,  deep  in  its  ravine  of  slate,  roaring 
over  the  dam  above  the  rocky  gorge  only  to  flow  out 
again  between  the  ledge  and  the  stone  foundations  of 
the  grist-mill  opposite.  Down  into  the  ravine  and 
under  the  dam  I  climbed,  using  the  mossy  steps  that 
nature  had  cut  in  the  slate,  and  found  a  rock  to  sit  on 
where  the  spray  from  the  dam  could  not  drench  me. 
And  here  I  baited  my  hook  and  cast  out,  so  that  the 
swirling  water  might  carry  my  lure  under  the  mill's 
foundations,  where  Ruyven  said  big,  dusky  trout  most 
often  lurked. 

But  I  am  no  fisherman,  and  it  gives  me  no  pleasure 
to  drag  a  finny  creature  from  its  element  and  see  its 
poor  mouth  gasp  and  its  eyes  glaze  and  the  fiery  dots 
»  161 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

on  its  quivering  sides  grow  dimmer.      So  when  a  sly 
trout  snatched  off  my  bait  I  was  in  no  mood  to  c< 
my  hook  again,  but  set  the  rod  on  the  rocks  and  let 
the  bright  current  waft  my  line  as  it  would,  harmless 
now  as  the  dusty  alder  leaves  dimpling  yonder  rip; 
So  I  opened  my  book,  idly  attentive,  reading   The 
Poems  of  Pansard,  while  dappled  shadows  of  clush 
maple  leaves  moved  on  the  page,  and  droning  bees 
set  old  Pansard 's  lines  to  music. 

"  Like  two  sweet  skylarks  springing  skyward,  singing, 

Piercing  the  empyrean  of  blinding  light. 
So  shall  our  souls  take  flight,  serenely  winging. 

Soaring  on  azure  heights  to  God's  delight . 
While  from  below  through  sombre  deeps  come  stealing 
The  floating  notes  of  earthward  church-bells  pealing." 

My  thoughts  wandered  and  the  yellow  page  fa<K  •!  to 
a  glimmer  amid  pale  spots  of  sunshine  waning  when 
some  slow  cloud  drifted  across  the  sun.  Again  my 
eyes  returned  to  the  printed  page,  and  again  thou 
parted  from  its  moorings,  a  den  lu  t  upon  the  tide  of 
memory.  Far  in  the  forest  I  heard  tin  throat's 

call   with   the   endless,   sad   refrain,  "Weep -wee 
Dorothy,  Dorothy,  Dorothy!"  Though  some  vow  that 
the  little  hird  sings  plainly,  "  Sweet  -  sw  -  eet  I  Canada, 
Canada,  Canad 

Then  for  a  while  I  closed  my  eyes  until,  slowly,  that 
awakening  sense  that  somebody  was  looking  at  me 
came  over  me,  and  I  raised  my  head. 

Dorothy  stood  on  the  log-bridge  above  the  dam,  elbows 
on  tlu  rail,  gazing  pensively  at  me. 

Well,  of  all  idle  men!"    she  said,  steadying  her 
ce  perceptibly.     "Shall  I  come  down  ' 

And  without  waiting  for  a  reply  she  walked  around 
to  the  south  end  of  the  bridge  and  began  to  descend 
the  ravine. 

162 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

I  offered  assistance;  she  ignored  it  and  picked  her 
own  way  down  the  cleft  to  the  stream-side. 

"It  seems  a  thousand  years  since  I  have  seen  you/' 
she  said  "  What  have  you  been  doing  all  this  while? 
What  are  you  doing  now?  Reading?  Ohl  fishing  1 
And  can  you  catch  nothing,  silly?  .  .  .  Give  me  that 
rod.  .  .  .  No,  I  don't  want  it,  after  all;  let  the  trout  swim 
in  peace.  .  .  .  How  pale  you  have  grown,  cousin  1" 

"  You  also,  Dorothy,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  I  know  that ;  there's  a  glass  in  my  room,  thank 
you.  ...  I  thought  I'd  come  down.  . . .  There  is  company 
at  the  house — some  of  Colonel  Gansevoort's  officers, 
Third  Regiment  of  the  New  York  line,  if  you  please, 
and  two  impudent  young  ensigns  of  the  Half-moon 
Regiment,  all  on  their  way  to  Stanwix  fort." 

She  seated  herself  on  the  deep  moss  and  balanced 
her  back  against  a  silver-birch  tree. 

"They're  at  the  house,  all  these  men,"  she  said; 
"and  what  do  you  think?  General  Schuyler  and  his 
lady  are  to  arrive  this  evening,  and  I'm  to  receive  them, 
dressed  in  my  best  tucker! .  .  .  and  there  may  be  others 
with  them,  though  the  General  comes  on  a  tour  of  in- 
spection, being  anxious  lest  disorder  break  out  in  this 
district  if  he  is  compelled  to  abandon  Ticonderoga.  .  .  . 
What  do  you  think  of  that— George?" 

My  name  fell  so  sweetly,  so  confidently,  from  her 
lips  that  I  looked  up  in  warm  pleasure  and  found  her 
grave  eyes  searching  mine. 

"Make  it  easier  for  me,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  How  can  I  talk  to  you  if  you  do  not  answer  me?" 

"I — I  mean  to  answer,  Dorothy,"  I  stammered; 
"I  am  very  thankful  for  your  kindness  to  me." 

"Do  you  think  it  is  hard  to  be  kind  to  you?"  she 
murmured.  "What  happiness  if  I  only  might  be 
kind!"  She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  bowed  her 
head.  "Pay  no  heed  to  me,"  she  said;  "I — I  thought 

163 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

i  could  see  you  and  control  this  rebel  tongue  of  mine. 
And  here  am  I  with  heart  insurgent  beating  the  long 
roll  and  every  nerve  a-quiver  with  sedition!" 

"What  are  you  saying?'   1  protested,  miserably. 

She  dropped  her  hands  from  her  face  and  gazed  at 
me  quite  cal: 

"  Saying?  I  was  saying  that  these  rocks  are  wet, 
and  that  1  was  silly  to  come  down  here  in  my  Pompa- 
dour shoes  and  stockings,  and  I'm  silly  to  stay  here, 
and  I'm  going!" 

And  go  she  did,  up  over  the  moss  and  rock  1 
fawn,  and  I  after  her  to  the  top  of  the  bank,  where  she 
seemed  vastly  surprised  to  see  me. 

"Now  I  pray  you  choose  which  way  you  HUN 
stroll,"  she  said,  impatient          "Here  lie  two  paths, 
and  I  will  take  this  straight  and  narrow  one." 

She  turned  sharply  \vith  her,  and  for  a  1  >n^ 

e  we  walked  .^  side  by  side,  exchann 

neither  word  nor  glance  until  at  last  she  stopped  short, 
seated  herself  on  a  mossy  log,  and  touched  her  hot  face 
a  crumpled  bit  of  lace  and  cambric. 

what,  Mr.  Longs hanks  I"  she  said 
shall  go  no  farther  with  you  unless  you  talk  to  me. 
Mercy  on  the  lad  with  his  seven-league  boots!  He 
has  me  breathless  and  both  hat-strings  flying  and  my 
shoe -points  dragging  to  trip  my  heels!  Sit  down, 
sir,  till  I  knot  my  ribbons  under  my  ear;  and  I  '11  thank 
you  to  tie  my  shoe-points  1  Not  doubled  in  a  sailo 
knot,  silly!  .  .  .  And,  oh,  cousin,  I  would  I  had  a  sun- 
mask!  .  .  .  Now  you  are  laughing!  Oh,  I  know  you 
think  me  a  country  hoyden,  careless  of  sunburn  and 
dust!  But  I'm  not  I  love  a  smooth,  white  skin  as 
well  as  any  London  beau  who  praises  it  in  verses. 
And  I  shall  have  one  for  myself,  too.  You  may  see, 
to-night,  if  the  Misses  Carmichael  come  with  Lady 
Schuyler,  for  we'll  have  a  dance,  perhaps,  and  I  mean 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

to  paint  and  patch  and  powder  till  you'd  swear  me  a 
French  marquise!  .  .  .  Cousin,  this  narrow  forest  path- 
way leads  across  the  water  back  to  the  house.  Shall 
we  take  it?  ...  You  will  have  to  carry  me  over  the 
stream,  for  I'll  not  wet  my  shins  for  love  of  any  man, 
mark  that!" 

She  tied  her  pink  hat -ribbons  under  her  chin  and 
stood  up  while  I  made  ready ;  then  I  lifted  her  from  the 
ground.  Very  gravely  she  dropped  her  arms  around 
my  neck  as  I  stepped  into  the  rushing  current  and 
waded  out,  the  water  curling  almost  to  my  knee-buckles. 
So  we  crossed  the  grist-mill  stream  in  silence,  eyes 
averted  from  each  other's  faces ;  and  in  silence,  too,  we 
resumed  the  straight  and  narrow  path,  now  deep  with 
last  year's  leaves,  until  we  came  to  a  hot,  sandy  bank 
covered  with  wild  strawberries,  overlooking  the  stream. 

In  a  moment  she  was  on  her  knees,  filling  her  hand- 
kerchief with  strawberries,  and  I  sat  down  in  the  yel- 
low sand,  eyes  following  the  stream  where  it  sparkled 
deep  under  its  leafy  screen  below. 

"Cousin,"  she  said,  timidly,  "are  you  displeased ?n 

"Why?" 

"At  my  tyranny  to  make  you  bear  me  across  the 
stream — with  all  your  heavier  burdens,  and  my  own — " 

"  I  ask  no  sweeter  burdens,"  I  replied. 

She  seated  herself  in  the  sand  and  placed  a  scarlet 
berry  between  lips  that  matched  it. 

"  I  have  tried  very  hard  to  talk  to  you,"  she  said. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say,  Dorothy,"  I  muttered. 
**  Truly  I  do  desire  to  amuse  you  and  make  you  laugh 
• — as  once  I  did.  But  the  heart  of  everything  seems 
dead.  There!  I  did  not  mean  that!  Don't  hide  your 
face,  Dorothy!  Don't  look  like  that!  I — I  cannot 
bear  it.  And  listen,  cousin;  we  are  to  be  quite  hap- 
py. I  have  thought  it  all  out,  and  I  mean  to  be  gay 
and  amuse  you.  .  .  .  Won't  you  look  at  me,  Dorothy?" 

165 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"Wh — why?"  she  asked,  unsteadily. 

lust  to  see  how  happy  I  am— just  to  see  that  I  pull 
no  long  faces — idiot  that  I  was!  .  .  .  Dorothy,  will  you 
smile  just  once?" 

JTd  hispered,  lifting  her  head  and  raising 

her  wet  lashes.     Presently  tur  lips  parted  in  one  of 
her  adorable  smiles.     "Now  t!  have  made  me 

weep  till  my  nose  is  red  you  may  pick  me  even 
berry  in  sight,"  she  said,  winking  away  the  bright 
tears.    "You  have  heard  of  the  penance  of  the  Al- 
gonquin witch?" 

1  kiu  \v  IK -thing  of  Northern  Indian  lore,  and  I  said  so. 

What?    You  never  heard  of  the  Stonish  Giants? 

You  never  heard  of  the  n\  m^  Head?    Mercy  on  the 

boy!    Sit  here  and  we'll  eat  strawberries  and  I  shall 

tell  you  tales  of  the  Long  House.  ...  Sit  nearer,  for  I 

shall  speak  in  a  low  voice  lest  old  Atotarho  awake 

i  his  long  sleep  and  the  dead  pines  ring  hollow, 

witch-drums   under  tin    yellow-hammer's  double 

blows.  .  .  .  Are  you  afra 

I  whispered,  gayly. 

"Then    listen/'    she    breathed,    rai^inc:    one    pink- 

r      "Ti  lie  tale  of  the  Kight  Thim- 

.  told  in  tlu  oldest  tongue  of  the  confederacy  and 

to  all  ensigns  of  the  three  clans  ere  the  Brians  sued  for 

peace.    The:  rue. 

"  Long  ago,  the  Holder  of  the  Heavens  made  a  very 
poisonous  blue  otter,  and  the  Mohawks  killed  it  and 
threw  its  body  into  the  lake.  And  the  Holder  of  Hi-. 
en  came  to  the  eastern  door  of  the  Long  House  and 
knocked,  saying :  '  Where  is  the  very  poisonous  blue 
r  that  I  made,  0  Keepers  of  the  Eastern  Door?' 

A'ho  calls?'  asked  the  Mohawks,  peeping  out  to  see. 
"Then  the  Holder  of  the  Heavens  named  hn: 
and  the  Mohawks  were  afraid  and  hid  in  the  Long 
House,  listening. 

1 66 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

" '  Be  afraid  1  0  you  wise  men  and  sachems !  The 
\visclom  of  a  child  alone  can  save  you!'  said  the  Holder 
of  the  Heavens.  Saying  this  he  wrapped  himself  in  a 
bright  cloud  and  went  like  a  swift  arrow  to  the  sun." 

My  cousin's  voice  had  fallen  into  a  low,  melodious 
sing-song ;  her  rapt  eyes  were  fixed  on  me. 

"  A  youth  of  the  Mohawks  loved  a  maid,  and  they 
sat  by  the  lake  at  night,  counting  the  Dancers  in  the 
sky — which  we  call  stars  of  the  Pleiades. 

"'One  has  fallen  into  the  lake/  said  the  youth. 

"'It  is  the  eye  of  the  very  poisonous  blue  otter/  re- 
plied the  maid,  beginning  to  cry. 

"'I  see  the  lost  Dancer  shining  down  under  the 
water/  said  the  youth  again.  Then  he  bade  the  maid 
go  back  and  wait  for  him ;  and  she  went  back  and  built 
a  fire  and  sat  sadly  beside  it.  Then  she  heard  some  one 
coming  and  turned  around.  A  young  man  stood  there 
dressed  in  white,  and  with  white  feathers  on  his  head. 
'  You  are  sad/  he  said  to  the  maid, '  but  we  will  help 
you/  Then  he  gave  her  a  belt  of  purple  wampum  to 
show  that  he  spoke  the  truth. 

"Follow/  he  said;  and  she  followed  to  a  place  in 
the  forest  where  smoke  rose.  There  she  saw  a  fire, 
and,  around  it,  eight  chiefs  sitting,  with  white  feathers 
on  their  heads. 

" '  These  chiefs  are  the  Eight  Thunders/  she  thought ; 
'  now  they  will  help  me/  And  she  said : '  A  Dancer  has 
fallen  out  of  the  sky  and  a  Mohawk  youth  has  plunged 
for  it/ 

" '  The  blue  otter  has  turned  into  a  serpent,  and  the 
Mohawk  youth  beheld  her  eye  under  the  waters/  they 
said,  one  after  the  other.  The  maid  wept  and  laid  the 
wampum  at  her  feet.  Then  she  rubbed  ashes  on 
her  lips  and  on  her  breasts  and  in  the  palms  of  her 
hands. 

" '  The  Mohawk  youth  has  wedded  the  Lake  Serpent/ 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

they  said,  one  after  the  other.     The  maid  wept    and 
S}K  ruhlvd  ashes  on  her  thighs  and  on  her  feet. 

Li>u-!!,'  iiu  \  said,  one  after  a  'take  straw- 

andgot  be,      Bbn  will  know  what  to  do. 

When  that  is  done  we  will  conic  in  the  form  of  a  cloud 
on  the  lake,  not  in  the  s« 

"So  she  found  strawberries  in  the  starlight  and 
went  to  the  lake,  calling,  'Friend!  1   am 

going  away  and  wish  to  see  y < 

"  Out  on  the  lake  the  water  began  to  boil,  and 
ing  out  of  it  she  saw  her  friend.     1  le  had  a  spot  on  his 
forehead  and  looked  like  a  serpent,  and  yet  like  a  man. 
Then  she  spread  the  berries  on  the  shore  and  I 
to  the  land  and  ate.     Then  he  went  but  K  i..  il 
and  placed  his  lips  to  the  water,  drinking.     Aiul  the 
maid  saw  him  going  down  through  the  water  like  a 
snake.    So  she  cried, '  Friends!     Friends  I    I  am  going 
away  and  wish  to  see  you!' 

"  The  lake  boiled  and  her  friend  came  out  of  it      Tin 
lake  boiled  once  more;  not  in  one  spot  alone,  but  all 

like  a  hii:h  sea  spouting  on  a  reef. 
"Outoi  er  came  her  friend's  wife,  beautiful  to 

behold  and  shinnm  with  silver  scales,     lln-  loQfl 
fell  all  around  her,  and  seemed  like  silver  and  ^ 
When  she  came  ashore  she  stretched  out  on  the  sand 
and  took  a  strawberry  between  her  lips.     The  y<>ung 
maid  watched  the  lake  until  she  saw  something  n 
ing  on  the  waters  a  great  way  off,  which  seemed  like  a 
cloud. 

In  a  moment  the  stars  went  out  and  it  grew  dark, 
and  it  thundered  till  the  skies  fell  down,  torn  into  i 
the  terrible  1  _r.     All  was  still  at  last,  and  it 

\v  lighter  The  inaid  opened  her  eyes  to  find  herself 
in  the  arms  of  her  friend.  But  at  their  feet  lay  the 
dying  sparks  of  a  shattered  star. 

hen  as  they  went  back  through  the  woods  the  eiyht 
1 68 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

chiefs  passed  them  in  Indian  file,  and  they  saw  them 
rising  higher  and  higher,  till  they  went  up  to  the  sky 
like  mists  at  sunrise." 

Dorothy's  voice  died  away ;  she  stretched  out  one  arm. 

"This  is  the  end,  0  you  wise  men  and  sachems, 
told  since  the  beginning  to  us  People  of  the  Morning. 
Hiro  [I  have  spoken]!" 

Then  a  startling  thing  occurred ;  up  from  the  under- 
brush behind  us  rose  a  tall  Indian  warrior,  naked  to 
the  waist,  painted  from  belt  to  brow  with  terrific,  name- 
less emblems  and  signs.  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  horror- 
struck;  the  savage  folded  his  arms,  quietly  smiling; 
and  I  saw  knife  and  hatchet  resting  in  his  belt  and  a 
long  rifle  on  the  moss  at  his  feet. 

"K6ue!  That  was  a  true  tale/'  he  said,  in  good 
English.  "  It  is  a  miracle  that  one  among  you  sings 
the  truth  concerning  us  poor  Mohawks." 

"Do  you  come  in  peace?"  I  asked,  almost  stunned. 

He  made  a  gesture.  "  Had  I  come  otherwise,  you 
had  known  it ! "  I  le  looked  straight  at  Dorothy.  "  You 
are  the  patroon's  daughter.  Does  he  speak  as  truth- 
fully of  the  Mohawks  as  do  you?" 

"Who  are  you?"  I  asked,  slowly. 

He  smiled  again.     "My  name  is  Brant,"  he  said. 

"  Joseph  Brant !  Thayendanegea ! ' '  murmured  Doro- 
thy, aloud. 

"  A  cousin  of  his,"  said  the  savage,  carelessly.  Then 
he  turned  sternly  on  me.  "  Tell  that  man  who  follows 
me  that  I  could  have  slain  him  twice  within  the  hour; 
once  at  the  ford,  once  on  Stoner's  hill.  Does  he  take 
me  for  a  deer?  Does  he  believe  I  wear  war-paint? 
There  is  no  war  betwixt  the  Mohawks  and  the  Boston 
people— yet  I  Tell  that  fool  to  go  home!" 

"What  fool?"  I  asked,  troubled. 

"You  will  meet  him — journeying  the  wrong  way/' 
said  the  Indian,  grimly. 

160 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

With  a  quick,  guarded  motion  he  picked  up  his  rifle, 
turned  short,  and  passed  swiftly  northward  sti Mi-'nt 
into  the  forest,  leaving  us  listening  there  together 

after  he  had  disappeared. 

"That  chief  was  Joseph  Brant,  .  .  .  but  he  wore  no 
war-paint,"  whispered  my  cousin.  "  He  was  painted 
for  the  secret  rites  of  the  False-Faces." 

"  He  could  have  slain  us  as  we  sat,"  I  said,  bitterly 
humiliated. 

She  looked  up  at  me  thoughtfully  ;  there  was  not  in 
face  the  slightest  trace  of  the  deep  emotions  whieh 
had  shocked  me. 

"A  tribal  fire  is  lighted  somewhere/1  she  mused. 
like  Brant  do  not  travel  alone — unless — un- 
less he  came   to  consult   that   witch  Calnne  Montour, 
or  to  guide  her  to  some  national  council -fire  in   tin 
Nor 

She  pondered  awhile,  and  I  stood  by  in  silence,  niv 
heart  still  heatinir  heavily  from  my  astonishment  at 
tin  hideous  apparition  of  a  m<>  ice. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "that  I  believe  Brant 
spoke  the  truth.  There  is  no  \\  as  far  as 

concerns  the  M  »ke  we  saw  was  a 

secret  signal ;  that  hag  was  scuttling  around  to  col 

False-Faces  for  .1  council.     Tlu-v  may  mean  war; 
I'm  sure  they  mean  it,   though  Brant  won-  no  \ 
paint.     But  war  has  not  yet  been  declared;  it  is 
scant  ceremony  when  a  nation  of  the  Iroquois  decides 

And  if   the   confederacy  declares  war 
monies  may  last  a   fortnight.     The  False-Faces 
must  be  heard  from  first      A  help  us!  1 

eve  their  fires  are  lighted  now." 
"What   ghastly   manner  of  folk  are  these  False- 
Faces?     I    :  ked. 

"A  secret  clan,  common  to  all  Northern  and  We 
Indians,  celebrating  secret  rites  among  the  six  nations 

170 


LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS 

of  the  Iroquois.  Some  say  the  spectacle  is  worse  than 
the  orgies  of  the  Dream-feast — a  frightful  sight,  truly 
hellish ;  and  yet  others  say  the  False-Faces  do  no  harm, 
but  make  merry  in  secret  places.  But  this  I  know;  if 
the  False-Faces  are  to  decide  for  war  or  peace,  they 
will  sway  the  entire  confederacy,  and  perhaps  every 
Indian  in  North  America;  for  though  nobody  knows 
who  belongs  to  the  secret  sect,  two-thirds  of  the  Mo- 
hawks are  said  to  be  numbered  in  its  ranks;  and  a* 
go  the  Mohawks,  so  goes  the  confederacy." 

"How  is  it  you  know  all  this?"  I  asked,  amazed. 

"My  playmate  was  Magdalen  Brant,"  she  said. 
"Her  playmates  were  pure  Mohawk." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  this  painted  savage  is 
kin  to  that  lovely  girl  who  came  with  Sir  John  and 
the  Butlers?"  I  demanded. 

"They  are  related.  And,  cousin,  this  'painted  sav- 
age' is  no  savage  if  the  arts  of  civilization  which  he 
learned  at  Dr.  Wheelock's  school  count  for  anything. 
He  was  secretary  to  old  Sir  William.  He  is  an  edu- 
cated  man,  spite  of  his  naked  body  and  paint,  and  the 
more  to  be  dreaded,  it  appears  to  me.  .  .  .  Hark\  See 
those  branches  moving  beside  the  trail  1  There  is  a 
man  yonder.  Follow  me." 

On  the  sandy  bank  our  shoes  made  little  sound,  yet 
the  unseen  man  heard  us  and  threw  up  a  glittering 
rifle,  calling  out:  "Halt!  or  I  fire." 

Dorothy  stopped  short,  and  her  hand  fell  on  my 
arm,  pressing  it  significantly.  Out  into  the  middle  of 
the  trail  stepped  a  tall  fellow  clad  from  throat  to  ankle 
in  deer-skin.  On  his  curly  head  rested  a  little,  round 
cap  of  silvery  mole-skin,  light  as  a  feather;  his  leg- 
gings' fringe  was  dyed  green ;  baldrick,  knife-sheath, 
bullet  -  pouch,  powder  -  horn,  and  hatchet  -  holster  were 
deeply  beaded  in  scarlet,  white,  and  black,  and  bands 
of  purple  porcupine -quills  edged  shoulder  -  cape  and 

171 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

moccasins,  around  which  were  painted  orange-colored 
flowers,  each  central  with  a  golden  bead. 

"A  forest-runner/'  she  motioned  with  her  lips,  "and, 
if  I'm  not  blind,  he  should  answer  to  the  name  of 
Mount — and  many  crimes,  they  say/' 

The  forest-runner  stood  alert,  rifle  resting  easily  in 
the  hollow  of  his  left  arm. 

"  Who  passes?"  he  called  out 

"  White  folk,"  replied  Dorothy,  laughing.  Then  u  c 
stepped  out 

,"  said  the  forest-runner,  lifting  his  mole- 
akin  cap  with  a  grin ;  "  if  this  is  not  the  pleasan  < 
sight  that  has  soothed  my  eyes  since  we  hung  that 
Tory  whelp  last  Friday — and  no  disrespect  to  Mistress 
Varick,  whose  father  is  more  patriot  than  many  an- 
other I  might  nan; 

"  I  bid  you  good-even,  Jack  Mount,"  said  Dorothy, 
smiling. 

o  you.  Mistress  Varick/'  he  said,  bowing 
deeper;  then  glanced  keenly  at  me  and  recognized  me 
at  the  same  moment.     "Has  my}  rcometi 

sir?"  he  asked,  instantly. 

"God  save  our  i  said,  significantly. 

"  Then  I  was  rij:  said,  and  flushed  with  pleas- 

ure when  I  offered  him  my  hand. 

I  am  not  too  free,"  he  muttered,  taking  my  hand 
in  his  great,  hard  paw,  almost  affectionately. 

>u  may  walk  with  us  if  you  jourm-y  our  way," 
said  Dorothy;  and  the  great  fellow  <1  up  beside 

her,  cap  in  hand,  and  it  amused  me  to  see  him  strive 
to  shorten  his  strides  to  hers,  so  that  he  presently  fell 
into  a  strange  gait,  half-skip,  half-Uxld 

"  Pray  cover  yourself,"  said  Dorothy,  encouragingly, 
and  Mount  did  so,  dumb  as  a  Matanzas  oyster  and 
crimson  as  a  boiled  sea-crab.  Then,  doubtless,  deem- 
ing that  gentility  required  some  polite  observation,  he 

172 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

spoke  in  a  high-pitched  voice  of  the  balmy  weather 
and  the  sweet  profusion  of  birds  and  flowers,  when 
there  was  more  like  to  be  a  "  sweet  profusion  "  of  Ind- 
ians; and  I  nigh  stifled  with  laughter  to  see  this  lum- 
bering, free -voiced  forest  -  runner  transformed  to  a 
mincing,  anxious,  backwoods  macaroni  at  the  smile 
of  a  pretty  woman. 

"  Do  you  bring  no  other  news  save  of  the  birds  and 
blossoms?"  asked  Dorothy,  mischievously.  "Tell  us 
what  we  all  are  fearful  of.  Have  the  Senecas  and 
Cayugas  risen  to  join  the  British?" 

Mount  stole  a  glance  at  me. 

"I  wish  I  knew,"  he  muttered. 

"  We  will  know  soon,  now,"  I  said,  soberly. 

"Sooner,  perhaps,  than  you  expect,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  summoned  to  the  manor  to  confer  with  General 
Schuyler  on  this  very  matter  of  the  Iroquois." 

"  Is  it  true  that  the  Mohawks  are  in  their  war-paint?" 
asked  Dorothy,  maliciously. 

"Stoner  and  Timothy  Murphy  say  so,"  replied 
Mount.  "  Sir  John  and  the  Butlers  are  busy  with 
the  Onondagas  and  Oneidas;  Dominie  Kirkland  is 
doing  his  best  to  keep  them  peaceable ;  and  our  General 
played  his  last  cards  at  their  national  council  We 
can  only  wait  and  see,  Mistress  Varick." 

He  hesitated,  glancing  at  me  askance. 

"The  fact  is,"  he  said,  "I've  been  sniffing  at  moo 
casin  tracks  for  the  last  hour,  up  hill,  down  dale,  o 
the  ford,  where  I  lost  them,  then  circled  and  picked 
them  up  again  on  the  moss  a  mile  below  the  bridge. 
If  I  read  them  right,  they  were  Mohawk  tracks  and 
made  within  the  hour,  and  how  that  skulking  brute 
got  away  from  me  I  cannot  think." 

He  looked  at  us  in  an  injured  manner,  for  we  were 
striving  not  to  smile. 

"I'm  counted  a  good  tracker,"  He  muttered.     Tin 
173 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

as  good  as  Walter  Butler  or  Tim  Murphy,  and  my 
friend,  the  Weasel,  now  with  Morgan's  nt:  no 

keener  forest-runner  than  am  I.  Oh,  I  do  not  mean 
to  brag,  or  say  I  can  match  my  cunning  against  such 
a  human  bloodhound  as  Joseph  Brant." 

He  paused,  in  hurt  surprise,  for  we  were  laughing. 
And  then  I  told  him  of  the  Indian  and  what  message 
he  had  sent  by  us,  and  Mount  listened,  red  as  a  j » j  •; 
LMi.tum^   Ins  lip. 

I  am  glad  to  know  it/'  he  said.    "This  will  IK 

1  news  to  General  SchuyKr,  I  have  no  doubt.    L< 
but  it  makes  me  mad  to  think  how  close  to  Brant   1 
stood  and  could  not  drill  his  painted  hide!" 
!e  spared  you,"  I  said. 

"That  is  his  affair,"  muttered  Mount,  striding  on 

"  There  speaks  the  obstinate  white  man,  who  can  see 
no  good  in  any  savage,"  whispered  Dorothy.  "  Noth- 
ing an  Indian  does  is  riirht  or  generous;  these  forest- 
runners  hate  them,  distrust  them,  fear  them— though 
y  may  deny  it — and  kill  all  they  can.  And  you 
may  argue  all  day  with  an  Indian-hater  and  have 
your  trouble  to  pay  you.  Yet  I  have  heard  that  this 
man  Mount  is  brave  and  generous  to  enemies  of  his 
own  col 

We  had  now  come  to  the  road  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  Mount  set  his  cap  rakishly  on  his  head, 
straightened  cape  and  baldrick,  and  ran  his  fingers 
tli rough  the  gorgeous  thrums  rippling  from  sleeve  and 

barter  a  month's  pay  for  a  pot  o'  beer,"  he  said 
to  me,      "I  learned  to  drink  serving  with  Cresap's 
riflemen  e*.  the  siege  of  Boston;  a  godless  compa 
tor  an  innocent  man  to  fall  among.     But  Morga 
rifles  are  worse,  Mr.  Ormond ;  they  drink  no  water  save 
when  it  rain    in  their  gin  toddy." 

174 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

"Sir  Lupus  says  you  tried  to  join  them/'  said  Doro- 
thy, to  plague  him. 

"  So  I  did,  Mistress  Varick,  so  I  did/'  he  stammered'; 
"to  break  'em  o'  their  habits,  ma'am.  Trust  me,  if 
I  had  that  corps  I'd  teach  'em  to  let  spirits  alone  if  I 
had  to  drink  every  drop  in  camp  to  keep  'em  sober!" 

"There's  beer  in  the  buttery,"  she  said,  laughing; 
" and  if  you  smile  at  Tulip  she'll  see  you  starve  not." 

"Nobody,"  said  I,  "goes  thirsty  or  hungry  at  Var- 
ick Manor." 

"Indeed,  no,"  said  Dorothy,  much  amused,  as  old 
Cato  came  down  the  path,  hat  in  hand.  "  Here,  Catol 
do  you  take  Captain  Mount  and  see  that  he  is  com- 
fortable and  that  he  lacks  nothing." 

So,  standing  together  in  the  stockade  gateway,  we 
watched  Cato  conducting  Mount  towards  the  quarters 
behind  the  guard-house,  then  walked  on  to  meet  the 
children,  who  came  dancing  down  the  driveway  to 
greet  us. 

"Dorothy!  Dorothy!"  cried  Cecile,  "we've  shaved 
candles  and  waxed  the  library  floors.  Lady  Schuyler 
is  here  and  the  General  and  the  Carmichael  girls  we 
knew  at  school,  and  their  cousin,  Maddaleen  Dirck, 
and  Christie  McDonald  and  Marguerite  Haldimand — 
cousin  to  the  Tory  general  in  Canada — and — " 

"I'm  to  walk  a  minuet  with  Madge  Haldimand!" 
broke  in  Ruyven ;  "  will  you  lend  me  your  gold  stock- 
buckle,  Cousin  Ormond?" 

"  I  mean  to  dance,  too,"  cried  Harry,  crowding  up  to 
pluck  my  sleeve.  "Please,  Cousin  Ormond,  lend  me 
a  lace  handkerchief." 

"Paltz  Clavarack,  of  the  Half -moon  Regiment, 
asked  me  to  walk  a  minuet,"  observed  Cecile,  tossing 
her  head.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  He's 
so  persistent." 

Benny's  clamor  broke  out :  "  Thammy  thtole  papath 
175 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

betht   thnuff-boxth!     Thammy   thtole  papath   bclht 
thnuff-boxth!" 

"  Sammy  I1'  cried  Dorothy,  "  what  did  you  steal  your 
father's  best  snuff-box  for?" 

I  only  desired  to  offer  snuff  to  General  Schuyler," 
said  Sammy,  sullenly,  amid  a  roar  of  laughter 

"We're  to  dine  at  eight  I  Everybody  is  dressing; 
come  on,  Dorothy!"  cried  Cecile.  "Mr.  Clavarack 
vowed  he'd  perish  if  I  kept  him  waiting — ' 

"You  should  see  the  escort  I"  said  Ruyven  to  me. 
"  Dragoons,  cousin,  in  leather  helmets  and  jack-boots, 
and  all  wearing  new  sabres  taken  from  the  Hessian 
cavalry.  They're  in  the  quarters  with  Tim  Murphy, 
of  Morgan's,  and.  Lord!  how  thirsty  they  appear  to 
be!" 

"There's  the  handsomest  man  I  ever  saw/'  rnurmuml 
Cecile  to  Dorothy,  "Captain  O'Neil,  of  the  New  York 
iiiu  lie's  dying  to  see  you;  he  said  so  to  Mr.  Clav- 
arack, and  I  heard  hi- 

Dorothy  looked  up  with  heightened  color. 

"  Will  you  walk  the  minuet  with  me,  Dorothy?"  1 
whispered. 

looked  down,  faintly  smiling: 

"Perhaps/'  she  said. 

"That  is  no  answer,"  I  retorted,  surprised  and  hurt 
1  know  it,"  she  said,  demurely. 

"Then  answer  me,  Doroti 

She  looked  at  me  so  gravely  that  I  could  not  be  cer- 
tain whether  it  was  pretence  or  earnest. 

"  I  am  hostess/'  she  said ;  "  I  belong  to  my  guests. 
If  my  duties  prevent  my  walking  the  minuet  with  you, 
I  shall  find  a  suitable  partner  for  you,  cousin 

"And  no  doubt  for  yourself/'  I  retorted,  irritated  to 
rudeness. 

Surprise  and  disdain  were  in  her  eyes.  Her  raised 
brows  and  cool  smile  boded  me  no  good. 


LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS 

"I  thought  I  was  free  to  choose/'  she  said,  serenely. 

"You  are,  and  so  am  I,"  I  said.  "Will  you  have 
me  for  the  minuet?" 

We  paused  in  the  hallway,  facing  each  other. 

She  gave  me  a  dangerous  glance,  biting  her  tip  in 
silence. 

And,  the  devil  possessing  me,  I  said,  "For  the  last 
time,  will  you  take  me?" 

" No!"  she  said,  under  her  breath.  "  You  have  your 
answer  now." 

"I  have  my  answer,"  I  repeated,  setting  my  teeth. 


xn 

THE  GHOST-RING 

I  HAD  bathed  and  dressed  me  in  my  best  suit  of  pale- 
lilac  silk,  with   flapped  waistcoat  of  primrose 
u  ith  gold,  and  Cato  was  powdering  my  hair ;  when 
Lupus  waddled  in,  magnificent  in  scarlet  ,md  \\1. 
and  smelling  to  heaven  of  French  perfume  and  poma- 
tum. 

"Georgel"  he  cried,  in  his  brusque,  explosive  fash- 
I   like  Schuyler,  and  I  care  n.-t  \\lio  knows  n! 
Dammy!   I  was  cool  enough  with  him  and  his  lady 
when  they  arrived,  but  he  played  Valentine   to   my 
Orson  till  I  gave  up;  yes,  I  did,  George,  I  capitulated. 
Says  he,  'Sir  Lupus,  if  a  painful  misunderstanding 
has  kept  us  old  neighbors  from  an  exchange  of  civili- 
ties, I  trust  di (Terences  may  be  forgotten  in  this  graver 
I,     In  our  social  stratum  there  is  but  one  great 
of  cleavage  now,  opened  by  the  convulsions  of 
sir." 

1  >amn  the  convulsions  of  wa 

"'Quite  right/  says  he,   mildly;   'war  is  always 
damnal  Lupus/ 

"'General  Schuyler/  says  I,  'there  is  no  nonsense 
about  me.     You  and  L^dy  Schuyler  are  under  my 
roof,  and  you  are  welcome,  whatever  opinion  you  en- 
tertain of  me  and  my  fashion  of  living.     I  understand 
perfectly  that  this  visit  is  not  a  visit  of  ceremony  from 
i^hbor,  but  a  military  necessity. 
-ir  Lupus/  says  Lady  Schuyler,  'had  it  been 
178 


THE    GHOST-RING 

only  a  military  necessity  I  should  scarcely  have  ac- 
companied the  General  and  his  guests/ 

"Madam/  says  I,  'it  is  commonly  reported  that  I 
offended  the  entire  aristocracy  of  Albany  when  I  had 
Sir  John  Johnson's  sweetheart  to  dine  with  them.  And 
for  that  I  have  been  ostracized.  For  which  ostracism, 
madam,  I  care  not  a  brass  farthing.  And,  madam, 
were  I  to  dine  all  Albam^  to-night,  I  should  not  ignore 
my  old  neighbors  and  friends,  the  Putnams  of  Tribes 
Hill,  to  suit  the  hypocrisy  of  a  few  strangers  from  Al- 
bany. Right  is  right,  madam,  and  decency  is  decency  1 
And  I  say  now  that  to  honest  men  Claire  Putnam  is 
Sir  John's  wife  by  every  law  of  honor,  decency,  and 
chivalry ;  and  I  shall  so  treat  her  in  the  face  of  a  rotten 
world  and  to  the  undying  shame  of  that  beast,  Sir  John !' 

"  Whereupon — would  you  believe  it,  George? — Schuy- 
ler  took  both  my  hands  in  his  and  said  my  conduct 
honored  me,  and  more  of  the  same  sort  o'  tiling,  and 
Lady  Schuyler  gave  me  her  hand  in  that  sweet,  stately 
fashion;  and,dammy!  I  saluted  her  finger-tips.  Heav- 
en knows  how  I  found  it  possible  to  bend  my  waist, 
but  I  did,  George.  And  there's  an  end  to  the  whole 
matter!" 

He  took  snuff,  blew  his  nose  violently,  snapped  his 
gold  snuff-box,  and  waddled  to  the  window,  where,  be- 
low, in  the  early  dusk,  torches  and  rush-lights  burned, 
illuminating  the  cavalry  horses  tethered  along  their 
picket-rope,  and  the  trooper  on  guard,  pacing  his  beat, 
musket  shining  in  the  wavering  light. 

"That  escort  will  be  my  undoing/'  he  muttered. 
"  Folk  will  dub  me  a  partisan  now.  Dammy  I  a  man 
under  my  roof  is  a  guest,  be  he  Tory  or  rebel.  I  do 
but  desire  to  cultivate  my  land  and  pay  my  debts  of 
honor;  and  I'll  stick  to  it  till  they  leave  me  in  peace  or 
hang  me  to  my  barn  door!" 

And  he  toddled  out,  muttering  and  fumbling  with  his 

179 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Bnuff-box,  bidding  nie  h  ind  not  keep  them  wait 

ing  dinner. 

I  stood  before  the  mirror  with   its  lighted  sconces, 
gazing  grimly  at  my  solx:  \hilc  Cato  lied 

ibbon  and  dusted  nr  coat-skirts.     Then 

1  fastened  the  brilliant  buckle  under  mv  chin,  shook 
out  the  deep,  soft  lace  at  throat  and  wristband,  and 
took  my  small-sword  from  Cato. 

"Mars'  George,"  murmured  the  old  man,  "yo'  look 
lak  yo1  is  gwine  wed  wif  mah  li'l  Miss  Dorry." 

I  stared  at  him  ann  What  put  that  into  your 

head 

!;innof  suh  ;  hit  drss  l«>ok  dat-a-way  to  me,  suh." 

"You're  a  fool,"  I  said,  sharply. 

"No,  suh,  I  ain'  no  fool,  Mars'  George.     I  done  aee 
de  sign  I    Yaas,  suh,  I  done  see  de  sign." 

"What  m*.-: 

old  man  chuckled,  looked  slyly  at  my  left  hand, 
then  chuckled  again. 

"Mars'  George,  yo'  is  wearin'  yo'  weddirf  -  rim; 
now!" 

*  A  ring  1    There  is  no  ring  on  my  hand,  you  rascal  I" 
I  said. 

"  Yaas,  suh ;  dey  sho'  is,  Mars'  George,"  he  insisted, 
still  chuckling. 

•ell  you  I  never  wear  a  ring/'  I  said,  ini|viti» 

'"Scuse  me,  Mars'  George,  suh/'  he  said,   hum 
Mv.     And,  lifting  my  left  hand,  laid  it  in  his  wrinkled, 
black  palm,  peering  closely.    I  also  looked,  and  saw 
at  the  base  of  my  third  linger  a  circle  like  the  mark 
left  by  a  wedding-rim: 

iat  is  strantf  \vore  a  rinp  in  all 

"Das  de  sign,  suh,"  muttered  the  old  man;  "das  de 
Onnond  sign,  suh.     Yo'  pap  wore  de  an' 

his  pap  wore  it  too,  suh.     All  de  Ormonds  done  wore 

180 


THE    GHOST-RING 

de  ghos'-ring  fore  dey  wus  wedded.      Hit  arn  dess 
dat-a-way,  Mars'  George  —  " 

He  hesitated,  looking  up  at  me  with  gentle,  dim 


"Miss  Dorry,  suh—  " 

He  stopped  short,  then  dropped  his  voice  to  a  whis- 
per. 

'  Tore  Miss  Dorry  git  up  outen  de  baid,  suh,  I  done 
tote  de  bre'kfus  in  de  mawnin'.  An'  de  fustest  word 
dat  lil  Miss  Dorry  say,  'Cato,'  she  say,  'whar  Mars' 
George?'  she  say.  'He  'roun'  de  yahd,  Miss  Dorry/ 
I  say.  '  Tears  lak  he  gettin'  mo'  res  less  an'  mis'blf, 
Miss  Dorry.' 

"'Cato,'  she  low,  'I  spec'  ma'  haid  gwine  ache  *1 
I  lie  hyah  in  dishyere  baid  mo'n  two  free  day.  Whar 
ma'  milk  an'  co'n  pone,  Cato?' 

"  So  I  des  sot  de  salver  down  side  de  baid,  suh,  an' 
lil  Miss  Dorry  she  done  set  up  in  de  baid,  suh,  an'  hole 
out  one  lil  bare  arm  —  " 

He  laid  a  wrinkled  finger  on  his  lips;  his  dark  face 
quivered  with  mystery  and  emotion. 

"One  lil  bare  arm,"  he  repeated,  "an  'I  seede  sign!" 

"What  sign?"  I  stammered. 

"De  bride-sign  on  de  ring-finger!  Yaas,  suh.  An' 
I  say,  'Whar  yo'  ring,  Miss  Dorry?'  An'  she  low 
ain'  nebber  wore  no  ring.  An'  I  say,  'Whar  dat  rin^, 
Miss  Dorry?' 

"Den  Miss  Dorry  look  kinder  queer,  and  rub  de 
ghos'-ring  on  de  bridal-finger. 

"'What  dat?'  she  low. 

"'Dasser  ghos'-ring,  honey.' 

"Den  she  rub  an'  rub,  but,  bless  yo'  heart,  Mars' 
George!  she  dess  natch  ly  gwine  wear  dat  pink  ghos'- 
ring  twill  yo'  slip  de  bride-ring  on.  .  .  .  Mars'  George! 
Honey!  What  de  matter,  chile?  ...  Is  you  a-  weeping 
Mars'  George?" 

l&l 


THE    MAID-AT   ARMS 

"Oh,  Cato,  Catot"  I  choked,  dropping  my  head  on 
his  shoulder. 

*  What  dey  do  to  mah  Til  Mars'  George?"  he  said, 
soothingly.     "'Spec'  SOUR  one  done  git  saucy!    Huh! 
Who  care?    Dar  de  sign!     Dar  de  ghos'-ring!     M 
George,  yo'  is  dess  boun'  to  wed,  suh!     Miss  Dorry, 
she  dess  boun'  to  wed,  too — " 

"But  not  with   me,  Cato,  not  with    me.     There's 
another  man  coming  for  Miss  Dorry,  Cato.     She  has 
promised  hi 
"Who  dat?"  he  cried.     "  How  come  dishyere  gh>  -i- 

roun    yo'  weddin '-finger?" 
I  don't  know,"  I  said;  "the  chance  pressure 
ruling-glove,  perhaps.     It  will   fade  away,  Cato,  this 
gh<>  as  you  call  it    .  .  .  ( iive  me  that  rag 

dust  tlu-}H)udiraway, Cato.  .  .  .  Th»  •  railing; 

>u  see,  you  rascal?  .  .  .  And  tell  Tulip  she  is 

"What  dat  foolish  wench  done  tole  you?"  he  ex- 
elaimed,  wrathfully. 

But  I  only  shook  my  head    imjutiently  and  walked 

Down  the  hallway  I  halted  in  tin-  liuht  of  the. 

sconces  and  looked  at  the  strange  mark  on  my  linger 

It    was   plainly  "A  tight  glove,  '   i   muttered, 

walked  on  towards  the  stairs. 

•ic  floor  below  came  a  breezy  buzz  d 
laughter,  the  snap  of  i  is  spreading,  the  whi*k 

and  rustle  of  petticoats.     I  leaned  a  morm  the 

rail  uh:eh  circled  the  stair  -gallery  and  looked  down 

Unaccustomed    cleanliness   and    wax   and    candle- 
light made  a  pretty  background  for  all  this  powdered 
and  silken  cornpanv  swarming  below.     The  servants 
children  had  gathered  ground-pine  to  festoon  the 
walls;    stair-rail,  bronze   cannon,    pict  :<>phies, 

and  windows  were  all  bright  with  the  aromatic  gr« 
foliage;  enormous  bunches  of  peonies  perfumed  trie 

182 


THE    GHOST-RING 

house,  and  everywhere  masses  of  yellow  and  white 
elder-bloom  and  swamp-marigold  brightened  the  cor- 
ners. 

Sir  Lupus,  standing  in  the  hallway  with  a  tall  gen- 
tleman who  wore  the  epaulets  and  the  buff -and- blue 
uniform  of  a  major-general,  beckoned  me,  and  I  de- 
scended the  stairs  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  that 
noblest  and  most  generous  of  soldiers,  Philip  Schuyler. 
He  held  my  hand  a  moment,  scrutinizing  me  with  kind- 
ly eyes,  and,  turning  to  Sir  Lupus,  said,  "  There  are 
few  men  to  whom  my  heart  surrenders  at  sight,  but 
your  young  kinsman  is  one  of  the  few,  Sir  Lupus/' 

"  He's  a  good  boy,  General,  a  brave  lad,"  mumbled 
Sir  Lupus,  frowning  to  hide  his  pride.  "A  bit  quick 
at  conclusions,  perhaps — eh,  George?" 

"  Too  quick,  sir,"  I  said,  coloring. 

"A  fault  you  have  already  repaired  by  confession/' 
said  the  General,  with  his  kindly  smile.  "  Mr.  Ormond, 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  Sir  George  Covert  the 
day  he  left  for  Stanwix,  and  Sir  George  mentioned 
your  desire  for  a  commission/' 

"  I  do  desire  it,  sir,"  I  said,  quickly. 

"  Have  you  served,  Mr.  Ormond?"  he  asked,  gravely. 

"  I  have  seen  some  trifling  service  against  the  Florida 
savages,  sir." 

"As  officer,  of  course/' 

"As  officer  of  our  rangers,  General." 

"You  were  never  wounded?" 

"No,  sir;  ...  not  severely/' 

"Oh!  ...  not  severely." 

"No,  sir." 

"There  are  some  gentlemen  of  my  acquaintance/* 
said  Schuyler,  turning  to  Sir  Lupus,  "  who  might  take 
a  lesson  in  modesty  from  Mr.  Ormond." 

"Yes,"  broke  out  Sir  Lupus — "that  pompous  ass, 
Gates." 

183 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMs 

"General  Gates  is  a  loyal  soldier,"  said  Schuykr. 
grav 

"  Who  the  devil  cares?"  fumed  Sir  Lupus.  "  I  call 
a  spade  a  spade!  And  I  say  he  is  at  the  head  of  th.it 
infamous  cabal  which  seeks  to  disgrace  you.  Don't 
tell  '  Tin  an  older  man  than  you,  sir!  I've  a 

right  to  say  it,  and  I  do.    Gates  is  an  envious  ass, 
and  unfit  to  hold  your  stirrup  I" 

"This  is  a  painful  matter,"  said  SchuvK  r,  in  a  low 
voice.  "Indiscreet  friendship  may  make  it  worse.  1 
regard  General  Gates  as  a  patriot  and  a  brother  soldier. 
. . .  Pray  let  us  choose  a  gayer  topic  nds." 

His  manner  was  so  noble,  his  courtesy  so  charming, 
that  there  was  no  sting  in  his  snub  to  Sir  Lupus.  Even 
I  had  heard  of  the  ymanng  jealousies  and  intrigues 
which  had  made  Schuyler 's  life  miserable — charges 
of  incompetency,  of  indifference,  of  corruption — nay, 
some  wretched  creatures  who  sought  to  push  Gates 
into  Sthuyler's  command  even  hinted  at  cowardice 
and  treason.  And  none  could  doubt  that  Gates  knew 
it  and  encouraged  it,  for  he  had  publicly  spoken  of 
Schuyler  in  slighting  and  c<  uous  terms. 

Yet  the  gentleman  whose  honor  had  been  the  target 
for  these  slanderers  never  uttered  one  word  against 
his  traducers:  and,  when  a  friend  asked  him  whether 
he  was  too  proud  to  defend  himself,  replied,  seren- 
"Not  too  proud,  but  too  sensible  to  spread  discord  in 
my  country's  army." 

"Lady  Schuyler  desires  to  know  you,"  said  the 
General,  "for  I  see  her  fan-signal,  which  I  always 
obey."  And  he  laid  his  arm  on  mine  as  a  fatfu-r 
might,  and  led  me  across  the  room  to  where  Doro 
stood  with  Lady  Schuvk>r  on  lu  r  rierht,  surrounded  by 
a  bevy  of  bright-eyed  girls  and  gay  young  officers. 

Dorothy  presented  me  in  a  quiet  voice,  and  I  bowed 
vtty  low  to  Lady  Schuyler,  who  made  me  an  old-time 


THE   GHOST-RING 

reverence,  gave  me  her  fingers  to  kiss,  and  spoke  most 
kindly  to  me,  inquiring  about  my  journey,  and  how 
I  liked  this  Northern  climate. 

Then  Dorothy  made  me  known  to  those  near  her, 
to  the  pretty  Carmichael  twins,  whose  black  eyes 
brimmed  purest  mischief;  to  Miss  Haldimand,  whose 
cold  beauty  had  set  the  Canadas  aflame;  and  to  others 
of  whom  I  have  little  recollection  save  their  names, 
Christie  McDonald  and  Lysbet  Dirck,  two  fashionable 
New  York  belles,  kin  to  the  Schuylers. 

As  for  the  men,  there  was  young  Paltz  Clavarack,  en- 
sign in  the  Half-moon  Regiment,  very  fine  in  his  orange- 
faced  uniform;  and  there  was  Major  Harrow,  of  the 
New  York  line;  and  a  jolly,  handsome  dare-devil, 
Captain  Tully  O'Neil,  of  the  escort  of  horse,  who  hung 
to  Dorothy's  skirts  and  whispered  things  that  made 
her  laugh.  There  were  others,  too,  aides  in  new  uni- 
forms, a  medical  officer,  who  bustled  about  in  the  r61e 
of  everybody's  friend;  and  a  parcel  of  young  subal- 
terns, very  serious,  very  red,  and  very  grave,  as  though 
the  destiny  of  empires  reposed  in  their  blue-and-gold 
despatch  pouches. 

"  I  wonder,"  murmured  Dorothy,  leaning  towards  me 
and  speaking  behind  her  rose-plumed  fan — "I  won- 
der why  I  answered  you  so." 

"  Because  I  deserved  it,"  I  muttered. 

"Cousin!  Cousin!"  she  said,  softly,  "you  deserve 
all  I  can  give — all  that  I  dare  not  give.  You  break 
my  heart  with  kindness." 

I  stepped  to  her  side ;  all  around  us  rose  the  hum  of 
voices,  laughter,  the  click  of  spurs,  the  soft  sounds  of 
silken  gowns  on  a  polished  floor. 

"It  is  you  who  are  kind  to  me,  Dorothy,"  I  whis- 
pered. "  I  know  I  can  never  have  you,  but  you  must 
never  doubt  my  constancy.  Say  you  will  not?" 

"Hush!"  she  whispered;  "come  to  the  dining-hall; 


THE   MAID-AT-ARMS 

I  must  look  at  the  table  to  see  that  all  is  well  done. 
and  there  is  nobody  there.  ...  We  can  talk  t!u 

slipped  off  through  the  throng,  and  I  sunn 
nit.)  the  gun-room,  from  whence  I  crossed  the  halhv 
and  entered  the  dining-hall.     Dorothy  stood  inspecting 
the  silver  and  linen,  and  giving  orders  to  Cato  in  a  l«>w 
voice.     Then  she  dismissed  the  row  of  servants  am' 
sat  down  in  a  leather  chair,  resting  her  forehead  in 

her  hanfjjt. 

" Deary  me!  Deary  me!"  she  murmured,  "how  my 
brain  whirls!  ...  I  would  I  were  abed!  ...  I  would  T 
were  dead!  .  .  .  What  was  it  you  said  concerning  con- 
stancy? Oh,  I  remember;  I  am  never  to  doubt  your 
constancy.0  She  raised  her  fair  head  from  between 
her  lyiriHit, 

"  Promise  you  will  never  doubt  it,"  I  whispered. 

"I — I  never  will,"  she  said.  "Ask  me  again  fot 
the  minuet,  dear.  I— I  refused  everybody— for  you." 

"  Will  you  walk  it  with  me,  Doroth 

-Yes— yes,  indeed!  I  told  them  all  I  must  wait  till 
you  asked  me." 

"Good  heavens!"  I  said,  laughing  nervously,  "you 
didn't  Ull  them  that,  did  you?" 

She  bent  her  lovely  face,  and  I  saw  the  smile  in 
her  eyes  glimmering  through  unshed  tears. 

"  Yes ;  I  told  them  that  Captain  O'Neil  protests  he 
means  to  call  you  out  and  run  you  through.  And  I 
said  you  would  probably  cut  off  his  queue  and  tir  him 
up  by  his  spurs  if  he  presumed  to  any  levity.  Then 
he  said  he'd  tell  Sir  George  Covert,  and  I  said  I'd 
him  myself  and  everybody  else  that  I  loved  my  cousin 
Ormond  better  than  anybody  in  the  world  and  meant 
to  wed  him — " 

'I  gasped. 

"Wed  him  to  the  most  beautiful  and  lovely  and 
desirable  maid  in  America 


THE    GHOST-RING 

"And  who  is  that,  if  it  be  not  yourself?"  I  asked, 
amazed. 

"  It's  Maddaleen  Dirck,  the  New  York  heiress,  Lys- 
bet's  sister;  and  you  are  to  take  her  to  table." 

"Dorothy/'  I  said,  angrily,  "you  told  me  that  you 
desired  me  to  be  faithful  to  my  love  for  you!" 

"I  do!  Oh,  I  do!"  she  said,  passionately.  "But 
it  is  wrong;  it  is  dreadfully  wrong.  To  be  safe  we 
must  both  wed,  and  then— God  knows! — we  cannot 
in  honor  think  of  one  another." 

"  It  will  make  no  difference,"  I  said,  savagely. 

"Why,  of  course,  it  will!"  she  insisted,  in  astonish- 
ment. "We  shall  be  married." 

"  Do  you  suppose  love  can  be  crushed  by  marriage?" 
I  asked. 

"The  hope  of  it  can." 

"It  cannot,  Dorothy." 

"It  must  be  crushed '"  she  exclaimed,  flushing  scar- 
let. "  If  we  both  are  tied  by  honor,  how  can  we  hope? 
Cousin,  I  think  I  must  be  mad  to  say  it,  but  I  never  see 
you  that  I  do  not  hope.  We  are  not  safe,  I  tell  you, 
spite  of  all  our  vows  and  promises.  .  .  .  You  do  not  need 
to  woo  me,  you  do  not  need  to  persuade  me!  Ere  you 
could  speak  I  should  be  yours,  now,  this  very  mo- 
ment, for  a  look,  a  smile  —  were  it  not  for  that  pale 
spectre  of  my  own  self  which  rises  ever  before  me, 
stern,  inexorable,  blocking  every  path  which  leads  to 
you,  and  leaving  only  that  one  path  free  where  the 
sign  reads  '  honor. '  .  .  .  And  I — I  am  sometimes  fright- 
ened lest,  in  an  overwhelming  flood  of  love,  that  sign 
be  torn  away  and  no  spectre  of  myself  rise  to  confront 
me,  barring  those  paths  that  lead  to  you.  .  .  .  Don't 
touch  me ;  Cato  is  looking  at  us.  ...  He's  gone. .  .  .  Wait, 
do  not  leave  me.  ...  I  have  been  so  wretched  and  un- 
happy. ...  I  could  scarce  find  strength  and  heart  to 
let  them  dress  me,  thinking  on  your  face  when  I  an- 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

swered  you  so  cruelly.  .  .  .  Oh,  cousin'  where  are  our 
vou  '    Where  are  the  solemn  promises  we  made 

never  to  speak  of  love?  .  .  .  Lovers  make  promises  like 
that  in  story-books — and  keep  them,  too,  and  die  sane 
tified,  blessing  one  another  and  mounting  on  radiant 
wings  to  heaven.  .  .  .  Where  I  should  find  no  hea 
save  in  you  1     Ah,  God  I  that  is  the  most  terrible.    Th  1 1 
takes  my  heart  away — to  die  and  wake  to  find  myself 
still  his  wife — to  live  through  all  eternity  without  you 
— and  no  hope  of  you — no  hope!  .  .  .  For  I  could  be  pa- 
tient through  this  earthly  life,  losing  my  youth  and 
yours  forever,  .  .  .  but  not  after  death)    No,  no!     I 
cannot  .  .  .  Better  hell  with  you  than  endless  heir 
with  him)  .  .  .  Don't  speak  to  me.  .  .  .  Take  your  hand 
from  my  hand. . . .  Can  you  not  see  that  I  mean  notlr 
of  what  I  say — that  I  do  not  know  what  1  am  saying? 
I  must  go  back ;  I  am  hostess — a  happy  one,  as  you 
perceive.  .  .  .  Will  I  never  learn  to  curb  my  tongue? 
You  must  forget  every  word  I  uttered— do  you  hear 
me?" 

She  sprang  up  in  her  rustling  silks  and  took  a  dozen 
steps  towards  the  door,  then  turned. 

"Do  you  hear  me?"  she  &i  I  bid  you  remember 

every  word  I  uttered — every  word!" 

She  was  gone,  leaving  me  staring  at  the  flowers  and 
silver  and  the  clustered  lights.  But  I  saw  them  i 
for  before  my  eyes  floated  the  vision  of  a  slender  hand, 
and  on  the  wedding-finger  I  saw  a  faint,  rosy  circle,  as 
I  had  seen  it  there  a  moment  since,  when  Dorothy  drop- 
ped her  bare  arms  on  the  cloth  and  laid  her  head  be- 
tween them. 

So  it  was  true;  whether  for  good  or  ill  my  cousin 
wore  the  ghost -ring  which  for  ages,  Cato  says,  we 
Ormonds  have  worn  before  the  marriage-ring.     There 
was  Ormond  blood  in  Dorothy.     Did  she  wear  the  • 
as  prophecy  for  that  ring  Sir  George  should  wed 


THE    GHOST-RING 

with?    I  dared  not  doubt  it — and  yet,  why  did  I  also 
wear  the  sign? 

Then  in  a  flash  the  forgotten  legend  of  the  Maid- 
at-Arms  came  back  to  me,  ringing  through  my  ears 
in  clamorous  words: 

"  Serene,  'mid  love's  alarms, 
For  all  time  shall  the  Maids-at-Arms, 
Wearing  the  ghost-ring,  triumph  with  their  constancy!" 

I  sprang  to  the  door  in  my  excitement  and  stared 
At  the  picture  of  the  Maid-at-Arms. 

Sweetly  the  violet  eyes  of  the  maid  looked  back  at 
me,  her  armor  glittered,  her  soft  throat  seemed  to  swell 
with  the  breath  of  life. 

Then  I  crept  nearer,  eyes  fixed  on  her  wedding-fin- 
ger. And  I  saw  there  a  faint  rosy  circle  as  though  a 
golden  ring  had  pressed  the  snowy  flesh. 


XIII 

THE  MAID-AT-ARM8 

I  REMEMBER  litUe  of  that  dinner  save  that  it  dif- 
1  fered  vastly  from  the  quarrelsome  carousal  at  whi.-h 
the  Johnsons  and  Butlers  figured  in  so  sinister  a  r61c, 
and  at  which  the  Glencoe  captains  d  1  them- 

selves. But  now,  if  the  patroon's  wine  lent  new  color 
to  the  fair  faces  round  me,  there  was  no  \\  laugh- 

ter, nothing  of  brutal  license.  Healths  were  given 
and  drunk  with  all  the  kindly  ceremony  to  which  I 
had  been  accustomed.  At  times  pattering  gusts  of 
hand-clapping  followed  some  popular  toast,  such  as 
"Our  New  Flag,"  to  which  General  SchuyK  ided 

in  perfect  taste,  veiling  the  deep  emotions  that  tin 
toast  stirred  in  many  with  graceful  allegory  tem- 
pered by  modesty  and  self-restraint. 

At  the  former  dinner  I  had  had  for  my  neighl>«>rs 
Dorothy  and  Magdalen  Brant.  Now  I  sat  between 
Miss  Haldimand  and  Maddaleen  Dink,  \\h-.m  I  had 
for  partner,  a  pretty  little  tiling,  who  peppered 
conversation  with  fashionable  New  York  phrases  and 
spiced  the  intervals  with  And  I  remember 

she  assured  me  that  New  York  was  the  only  city  fit 
to  live  in  and  that  she  should  never  survive  a  i 
longed  transportation  from  that  earthly  paradise  of 
gance  and  fashion.     Which  made  me  itch  to  go  tht 

I  think,  without  meaning  any  un kindness,  that 
Miss  Haldimand,  the  Canadian  beauty,  was  some- 
what surprised  that  I  had  not  already  fallen  a  victim 

190 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

to  her  lovely  presence ;  but,  upon  reflection,  set  it  down 
to  my  stupidity;  for  presently  she  devoted  her  conver- 
sation exclusively  to  Ruyven,  whose  delight  and  grati- 
tude could  not  but  draw  a  smile  from  those  who  ob- 
served him.  I  saw  Cecile  playing  the  maiden's  game 
with  young  Paltz  Clavarack,  and  Lady  Schuyler  on 
Sir  Lupus's  right,  charmingly  demure,  faintly  amused, 
and  evidently  determined  not  to  be  shocked  by  the  free 
bluntness  of  her  host. 

The  mischievous  Carmichae:  twins  had  turned  the 
batteries  of  their  eyes  on  two  solemn,  faultlessly  dressed 
subalterns,  and  had  already  reduced  them  to  the  verge 
of  capitulation ;  and  busy,  bustling  Dr.  Sleeper  cracked 
witticisms  with  all  who  offered  him  the  fee  of  their  at- 
tention, and  the  dinner  went  very  well. 

Radiant,  beautiful  beyond  word  or  thought,  Doro- 
thy sat,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  and  the  candle-light 
on  the  frosty-gold  of  her  hair  and  on  her  bare  arms 
and  neck  made  of  her  a  miracle  of  celestial  loveliness. 
And  it  was  pleasant  to  see  the  stately  General  on  her 
right  bend  beside  her  with  that  grave  gallantry  which 
young  girls  find  more  grateful  than  the  privileged 
badinage  of  old  beaus.  At  moments  her  sweet  eyes 
stole  towards  me,  and  always  found  mine  raised  to 
greet  her  with  that  silent  understanding  which  brought 
the  faintest  smile  to  her  quiet  lips.  Once,  above  the 
melodious  hum  of  voices,  the  word  "war"  sounded 
distinctly,  and  General  Schuyler  said: 

"  In  these  da}Ts  of  modern  weapons  of  precision  and 
long  range,  conflicts  are  doubly  deplorable.  In  the 
times  of  the  old  match-locks  and  blunderbusses  and 
unwieldly  weapons  weighing  more  than  three  times 
what  our  modern  light  rifles  weigh,  there  was  little 
chance  for  slaughter.  But  now  that  we  have  our 
deadly  flint-locks,  a  battle-field  will  be  a  sad  spectacle. 
Bunker  Hill  has  taught  the  whole  world  a  lesson 

191 


THE   MAID-AT-ARMS 

that  might  not  be  in  vain  if  it  incites  us  to  rid  the  earth 
of  this  wicked  frenzy  men  call  war." 

"General, "  said  Sir  Lupus,  "if  weapons  were  twenty 
es  as  quick  and  deadly — which  is,  of  course,  impos- 
sible, thank  God! — there  would  always  be  enough  men 
in  the  world  to  get  up  a  war,  and  enjoy  it,  tool" 

"  I  do  not  lik  believe  that,"  said  Schuyler,  si  nil- 
ing. 

"Wait  and  see/'  muttered  the  patroon.     "I'd 
to  live  a  hundred  years  hence,  just  to  prove  I  in  riuht. " 

"  I  should  rather  not  live  to  see  it,"  said  the  General, 
with  a  iwinklc  in  his  small,  grave  eyes. 

I  lun  quietly  the  last  healths  were  given  and  pledged; 
Dorothy  rose,  and  we  all  stood  while  she  and  Lady 
Schuyler  passed  out,  followed  by  the  other  ladies;  and 
I  had  to  restrain  I \uyven,  who  had  made  plans  to  fol- 
low Marguerite  Haldimand.     Thru  we  men  K 
once  more  over  our  port  and  walnuts,  conversing  fn 
while  the  fiddles  and  bassoons  tuned  up  fr<  >  ill- 

way,  and  General  Schuyler  told  us  pleasantly  as  much 
of  the  military  situation  as  he  desired  us  to  know.  A 
it  did  amuse  me  to  observe  the  solemn  subalterns  nod- 
ding all  like  wise  young  owlets,  as  though  they  could, 
if  they  only  dared,  reveal  secrets  that  would  astonish 
the  General  himself. 

Snuff  was  passed,  offered,  and  accepted  with  cere- 
mony befitting ;  spirits  replaced  the  port,  but  ' 
Schuyler  drank  sparingly,  and  his  well-trained  M 
perforce  followed  his  example.     So  that  wi  me 

time  to   rejoin  our  ladies  there  was  no  evidence  of 
wandering  legs,  no  amiably  vacant  laughter,  no  loud 
Yokes  to  strike  the  postprandial  discord  at  the  da 
or  at  the  card-tables. 

"How  did  I  conduct,  cousin0"  whispered  Ruyven, 
arm  in  arm  with  me  as  we  entered  the  long  drawing- 
room.  And  my  response  pleasing  him,  he  made  off 

192 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

straight  towards  Marguerite  Haldimand,  who  viewed 
his  joyous  arrival  none  too  cordially,  I  thought.  Poor 
Ruyven!  Must  he  so  soon  close  the  gate  of  Eden 
behind  him?  —  leaving  forever  his  immortal  boyhood 
sleeping  amid  the  never-fading  flowers. 

It  was  a  fascinating  and  alarming  spectacle  to  see 
Sir  Lupus  walking  a  minuet  with  Lady  Schuyler,  and 
I  marvelled  that  the  gold  buttons  on  his  waistcoat 
did  not  fly  off  in  volleys  when  he  strove  to  bend  what 
once,  perhaps,  had  been  his  waist. 

Ceremony  dictated  what  we  had  both  forgotten,  and 
General  Schuyler  led  out  Dorothy,  who,  scarlet  in 
her  distress,  looked  appealingly  at  me  to  see  that  1 
understood.  And  I  smiled  back  to  see  her  sweet  face 
brighten  with  gratitude  and  confidence  and  a  promise 
to  make  up  to  me  what  the  stern  rule  of  hospitality 
had  deprived  us  of. 

So  it  was  that  I  had  her  for  the  Sir  Roger  de  Cover- 
ley,  and  after  that  for  a  Delaware  reel,  which  all  danced 
with  a  delightful  abandon,  even  Miss  Haldimand  un- 
bending like  a  goddess  surprised  to  find  a  pleasure 
in  our  mortal  capers.  And  it  was  a  pretty  sight  to 
see  the  ladies  pass,  gliding  daintily  under  th«  arch  of 
glittering  swords,  led  by  Lady  Schuyler  and  Dorothy 
in  laughing  files,  while  the  fiddle-bows  whirred,  and 
the  music  of  bassoon  and  hautboys  blended  and  ended 
in  a  final  mellow  crash.  Then  breathless  voices  rose, 
and  skirts  swished  and  French  heels  tapped  the  pol- 
ished floor  and  solemn  subalterns  stalked  about  seek- 
ing ices  and  lost  buckles  and  mislaid  fans ;  and  a  faint 
voice  said,  "Oh!"  when  a  jewelled  garter  was  found, 
and  a  very  red  subaltern  said,  "  Honi  soit!"  and  every- 
body laughed. 

Presently  I  missed  the  General,  and,  a  moment  later, 
Dorothy.     As  I  stood  in  the  hallway,  seeking  for  her, 
came  Cecile,  crying  out  that  they  were  to  have  pictures 
"  193 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

and  charades,  and  that  General  Schuyler,  who  was  to 
be  a  judge,  awaited  me  in  the  tfun-room. 

The  door  of  the  gun-room  was  closed.     I  tapped  and 

General  sat  at  the  mahogany  table,  leaning 
back  in  his  arm-chair;  opposite  sat  Dorothy,  bare  rl 
bows  on  the  table,  fingers  clasped.     Standing  by  the 
General,  arms  folded,  Jack  Mount  loomed  a  colossal 
figure  in  his  beaded  buckskins. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Onnond!"  said  the  General,  as  I  closed 
the  door  quietly  behind  me;  "pray  be  seated.  They 
are  to  have  pictures  and  charades,  you  ki.  hall 

not  keep  Miss  Dorothy  and  yourself  very  long." 

I  seated  myself  beside  Dorothy,  exchanging  a  smile 
with  Mount 

"Now,"  said  the  General,  dropping  his  voice  to  a 
lower  tone,  "  what  was  it  you  saw  in  the  forest  to-day  ?" 

So  Mount  had  already  reported  the  apparition  of  the 
painted  savage! 

I  luld  what  I  had  seen,  describing  tin'  Indian  in  de- 
tail, and  repeating  word  for  word  his  warning  message 
to  Mount 

The  General  looked  inquiringly  at  Dorothy.  "  I  un- 
derstand," he  said,  "  that  you  know  as  much  about 
the  Iroquois  as  the  Iroquois  do  themselves." 

"I  think  I  do/'  she  said,  simply. 

"May  I  ask  how  you  acquired  your  knowledge, 
Miss  Dorothy?" 

4  There  have  always  been  Iroquois  villages  along 
our  boundary  until  last  spring,  when  the  Mohawks 
with  Guy  Johnson,"  she  said.  "I  have  always 
played  with  Iroquois  children;  I  went  to  school  with 
Magdalen  Brant.  I  taught  among  our  Mohawks  and 
Oneidas  when  I  was  thirteen.  Thm  I  \v,  ted 

by  sachems  and  I  learned  what  the  witch-drums  say, 
and  I  need  use  no  signs  in  the  six  languages  or  the 

194 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

clan  dialects,  save  only  when  I  speak  with  the  Lenni- 
Lenape.  Maybe,  too,  the  Hurons  and  Algonquins 
have  words  that  I  know  not,  for  many  Tuscaroras  do 
not  understand  them  save  by  sign." 

"  I  wish  that  some  of  my  interpreters  had  your  knowl- 
edge, or  a  fifth  of  it,"  said  the  General,  smiling.  "  Tell 
me,  Miss  Dorothy,  who  was  that  Indian  and  what  did 
that  paint  mean?" 

"The  Indian  was  Joseph  Brant,  called  Thayen- 
danegea,  which  means,  'He  who  holds  many  peo- 
ples together/  or,  in  plainer  words,  'A  bundle  of 
sticks/' 

"You  are  certain  it  was  Brant?" 

"Yes.  He  has  dined  at  this  table  with  us.  He  is 
an  educated  man."  She  hesitated,  looking  down 
thoughtfully  at  her  own  reflection  in  the  polished  table. 
"The  paint  he  wore  was  not  war-paint.  The  signs 
on  his  body  were  emblems  of  the  secret  clan  called  the 
'False-Faces/' 

The  General  looked  up  at  Jack  Mount. 

"What  did  Stoner  say?"  he  asked. 

"Stoner  reports  that  all  the  Iroquois  are  making 
ready  for  some  unknown  rite,  sir.  He  saw  pyramids 
of  flat  river-stones  set  up  on  hills  and  he  saw  smoke 
answering  smoke  from  the  Adirondack  peaks  to  the 
Mayfield  hills." 

"  What  did  Timothy  Murphy  observe?"  asked  Schuy- 
ler,  watching  Mount  intently. 

"  Murphy  brings  news  of  their  witch,  Catrine  Mon- 
tour,  sir.  He  chased  her  till  he  dropped — like  all  the 
rest  of  us — but  she  went  on  and  on  a  running,  hopl 
tap!  hopl  tap!  and  patter,  patter,  patter!  It  stirs  my 
hair  to  think  on  her,  and  I'm  no  coward,  sir.  We  call 
her  'The  Toad- woman." 

"  I'll  make  you  chief  of  scouts  if  you  catch  her,"  said 
the  General,  sharply. 

195 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"Very  good,  sir/'  replied  Mount,  pulling  a  wry  face, 
which  made  us  all  laugh 

'It  has  been  reported  to  me,"  said  the  General, 
quietly,  "that  the  Butlers,  father  and  son,  are  in  this 
county  to  attend  a  secret  council ;  and  that,  with  the 
help  of  Catrine  Montour,  they  expect  to  carry  the  Mo- 
hawk nation  with  them  as  well  as  the  Cayugas  and 
the  Scnecas. 

lias  further  been  reported  to  me  by  the  Pal 
scout  that  the  Onondagas  are  wavering,  that  the  Oiu  i 
das  are  disposed  to  stand  our  friends,  that  the  Tusca- 
roras  are  anxious  to  remain  ncui 

"Now,  within  a  few  days,  news  has  reached  me  that 
these  three  doubtful  nations  are  to  be  persuaded  by 
an  unknown  woman  who  is,  they  say,  the  prophetess 
of  the  False-Faces." 

!  K  paused,  looking  straight  at  Dorothy 

<>m  your  knowledge,"  he  said,  slowly,  "tell   rue 
\sh<»  is  this  unknown  woman 

"  Do  you  not  kno\\  asked,  simply. 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  do,  child.     It  is  Magdalen  Brant." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  quietly ;  "  from  childhood  she  stood 
as  prophetess  of  the  False-Faces.  She  is  an  educated 
girl,  sweet,  lovable,  honorable,  and  sincere.  She  has 
been  petted  by  the  fine  ladies  of  New  York,  of  Phila- 
delphia, of  Albany.  Yet  she  is  partly  Moha 

"Not  that  charming  girl  whom  I  had  to  dm 
I  cried,  astonished. 

"Yes,  cousin,"  she  said,  tranquilly.  "  You  are  sur- 
prised? Why?  You  should  see,  as  I  have  seen,  pu- 
from  Dr.  Wheelock's  school  return  to  tluir  tribes 
and,  in  a  summer,  sink  to  the  level  of  the  painted  sa- 
chem, every  vestige  of  civilization  vanished  with  the 
knowledge  of  the  tongue  that  taught 

I  have  seen  that,"  said  Schuyler,  frown  i 

"And  I — by  your  leave,  sir — I  have  seen  it,  tool" 

196 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

said  Mount,  savagely.  "There  may  be  some  virtue 
in  the  rattlesnake;  some  folk  eat  'em!  But  there  is 
none  in  an  Indian,  not  even  stewed — " 

"That  will  do/'  said  the  General,  ignoring  the  grim 
jest.  "  Do  you  speak  the  Iroquois  tongues,  or  any  of 
them?"  he  asked,  wheeling  around  to  address  me. 

"I  speak  Tuscarora,  sir/'  I  replied.  "The  Tusca- 
roras  understand  the  other  five  nations,  but  not  the 
Hurons  or  Algonquins." 

"What  tongue  is  used  when  the  Iroquois  meet?"  he 
asked  Dorothy. 

"  Out  of  compliment  to  the  youngest  nation  they  use 
the  Tuscarora  language,"  she  said. 

The  General  rose,  bowing  to  Dorothy  with  a  charm- 
ing smile. 

"  I  must  not  keep  you  from  your  charades  any 
longer,"  he  said,  conducting  her  to  the  door  and 
thanking  her  for  the  great  help  and  profit  he  had  de- 
rived from  her  knowledge  of  the  Iroquois. 

He  had  not  dismissed  us,  so  we  awaited  his  return ; 
and  presently  he  appeared,  calm,  courteous,  and  walked 
up  to  me,  laying  a  kindly  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"I  want  an  officer  who  understands  Tuscarora  and 
who  has  felt  the  bite  of  an  Indian  bullet,"  he  said, 
earnestly. 

I  stood  silent  and  attentive. 

"I  want  that  officer  to  find  the  False-Faces'  council- 
fire  and  listen  to  every  word  said,  and  report  to  me.  I 
want  him  to  use  every  endeavor  to  find  this  woman, 
Magdalen  Brant,  and  use  every  art  to  persuade  her  to 
throw  all  her  influence  with  the  Onondagas,  Oneidas, 
and  Tuscaroras  for  their  strict  neutrality  in  this  com- 
ing war.  The  service  I  require  may  be  dangerous 
and  may  not.  I  do  not  know.  Are  you  ready,  Captain 
Ormond?" 

"Ready,  sir!"  I  said,  steadily. 

197 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

He  drew  a  parchment  from  his  breast-pocket  and 
it  in  my  hands.     It  was  my  commission  in  the  armies 
of  the  United  States  of  America  as  captain  in  UK  militia 
battalion  of  Morgan's  regiment  of  riflemen,  and  signed 
by  our  Governor,  George  Clinton. 

"Do  you  accept  this  commission,  Mr.  Ormond?'    he 
asked,  regarding  me  pleasantly. 

"I  do,  sir." 

Sir  Lupus's  family  Bible  lay  on  the  window 
the  General  bade  Mount  fetch  it,  and  he  did  so.  The 
General  placed  it  before  me,  and  I  laid  my  hand  upon 
it,  looking  him  in  the  face.  Then,  in  a  low  voice,  he 
administered  the  oath,  and  I  replied  slowly  but  clearly, 
ending,  "So  help  me  God,"  and  kissed  the  Book. 

"Sit  down,  sir/'  said  the  General;  and  when  I  was 
seated  he  told  me  how  the  Continental  Congress  in 
July  of  1775  had  established  three  Indian  depart- 
ments; how  that  he,  as  chief  commissioner  of  this 
Northern  department,  which  included  the  Six  Nations 
of  the  Iroquois  confederacy,  had  summoned  the  na- 
tional council,  first  at  German  Flatts,  then  at  Albany; 
how  he  and  the  Reverend  Mr.  Kirkland  and  Mr.  Dean 
had  done  all  that  could  be  done  to  keep  the  Iroquois 
neutral,  but  that  they  had  not  fully  prevailed  against 
the  counsels  of  Guy  Johnson  and  Brant,  though  the 
venerable  chief  of  the  Mohawk  upper  castle  had  seemed 
inclined  to  neutrality.  He  told  me  of  General  Hi 
mer's  useless  conference  with  Brant  at  Unadilla,  where 
thai  had  declared  that  "The  King  of  England's 

belts  were  still  lodged  with  the  Mohawks,  and  that  the 
Mohawks  could  >late  their  pledges." 

I  think  we  have  lost  the  Mohawks,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral, thoughtfully.  "Perhaps  also  the  Senecas  and 
Cayugas;  for  this  she -devil,  Catrine  Montour,  is  a 
Huron-Seneca,  and  her  nation  will  follow  her.  But, 
if  we  can  hold  the  three  other  nations  back,  it  will  be 

198 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

a  vast  gain  to  our  cause — not  that  I  desire  or  would 
permit  them  to  do  battle  for  me,  though  our  Congress 
has  decided  to  enlist  such  Indians  as  wish  to  serve; 
but  because  there  might  be  some  thousand  warriors 
the  less  to  hang  on  our  flanks  and  do  the  dreadful  work 
among  the  people  of  this  country  which  these  people 
so  justly  fear." 

He  rose,  nodding  to  me,  and  I  followed  him  to  the 
door. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  you  know  what  you  are  to  do." 

"When  shall  I  set  out,  sir?"  I  asked. 

He  smiled,  saying,  "  I  shall  give  you  no  instructions. 
Captain  Ormond;  I  shall  only  concern  myself  with  re- 
sults." 

"  May  I  take  with  me  whom  I  please?" 

"Certainly,  sir." 

I  looked  at  Mount,  who  had  been  standing  motion- 
less by  the  door,  an  attentive  spectator. 

"I  will  take  the  rifleman  Mount,"  I  said,  "unless  he 
is  detailed  for  other  service — " 

"Take  him,  Mr.  Ormond.  When  do  you  wish  to 
start?  I  ask  it  because  there  is  a  gentleman  at  Broad- 
albin  who  has  news  for  you,  and  you  must  pass  that 
way." 

"May  I  ask  who  that  is?"  I  inquired,  respectfully. 

"The  gentleman  is  Sir  George  Covert, captain  on  my 
personal  staff,  and  now  under  your  orders." 

"I  shall  set  out  to-night,  sir,"  I  said,  abruptly;  then 
stepped  back  to  let  him  pass  me  into  the  hallway  be- 
yond. 

"Saddle  my  mare  and  make  every  preparation," 
I  said  to  Mount.  "  When  you  are  ready  lead  the 
horses  to  the  stockade  gate.  .  .  .  How  long  will  you 
take?" 

"An  hour,  sir,  for  rubbing  down,  saddling,  and 
packing  fodder,  ammunition,  and  provisions." 

199 


THE   MAID-AT-ARMS 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  soberly,  and  walked  out  to  the 
long  drawing-room,  where  the  company  had  takm 
chairs  and  were  all  whispering  and  watching  a  green 
baize  curtain  which  somebody  had  hung  across  the 
farther  end  of  the  room. 

"Charades  and  pictures/  whispered  Cecile,  at  my 
elbow.  "I  guessed  two,  and  Mr.  Clavarack  says  ii 
was  wonderful." 

It  certainly  was/'   I  said,  gravely.     "Whcr 
Ruyven?    Oh,  sitting  with  Miss  Haldimand?    Cecile, 
would  you  ask  Miss  Haldimand  s  indulgence  for  a 
few  moments?    I  must  speak  to  Sir  Lupus  and  to  you 
and  Ruyvi 

I  stepped  back  of  the  rows  of  chairs  to  where  Sir 
Lupus  sat  in  his  great  arm-chair  by  the  doorway; 
and  in  another  moment  Cecile  and  Ruyven  canu  up, 
tin-  latter  polite  but  scarcely  pleased  to  be  torn  away 
from  his  first  inamorata. 

"Sir  Lupus,  and  you,  Cecile  and  Ruyven,"  I  said, 

in  a  low  voice,  "I  am  going  on  a  little  journey,  and 

shall  be  absent  for  a  few  days,  perhaps  longer.     1 

li  to  take  this  opportunity  to  say  good-bye,  and  to 

thank  you  all  for  your  great  kindness  to  me." 

"  Where  the  devil  are  you  going?"  snapped  Sir  Lu- 
pus. 

"I  am  not  at  liberty  to  say,  sir;  perhaps  General 
Schuyler  may  tell  you." 

The  patroon  looked  up  at  me  sorrowfully.  "  George! 
George!"  he  said,  "  has  it  touched  us  already?" 

"Yes,  sir."  I  muttered. 

"What?"  whispered  Cecile. 

**  Father  means  the  war.  Our  cousin  Ormond  is  go- 
ing to  the  war,"  exclaimed  Ruyven,  softly. 

There  was  a  pause;  then  Cecile  flung  both  arras 
around  my  neck  and  kissed  i  ing  siler 

The  patroon 's  great,  fat  hand  sought  mine  and  held 

200 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Ruyven  placed  his  arm  about  my  shoulder.  Never 
had  I  imagined  that  I  could  love  these  kinsmen  of 
mine  so  dearly. 

"  There's  always  a  bed  for  you  here ;  remember  that, 
my  lad/'  growled  the  patroon. 

"  Take  me,  too/'  sniffed  Ruyven. 

"Eh!  What?"  cried  the  patroon.  "  1'U  take  you; 
oh  yes  —  over  my  knee,  you  impudent  puppy!  Let 
me  catch  you  sneaking  off  to  this  war  and  I'll — " 

Ruyven  relapsed  into  silence,  staring  at  me  in 
troubled  fascination. 

"  The  house  is  yours,  George,"  grunted  the  patroon. 
"  Help  yourself  to  what  you  need  for  your  journey." 

"Thank  you,  sir;  say  good-bye  to  the  children,  kiss 
them  all  for  me,  Cecile.  And  don't  run  away  and 
get  married  until  I  come  back." 

A  stifled  snivel  was  my  answer. 

Then  into  the  room  shuffled  old  Cato,  and  began  to 
extinguish  the  candles;  and  I  saw  the  green  curtain 
twitch,  and  everybody  whispered  "  Ah-h!" 

General  Schuyler  arose  in  the  dim  light  when  the 
last  candle  was  blown  out.  "You  are  to  guess  the 
title  of  this  picture!"  he  said,  in  his  even,  pleasant 
voice.  "  It  is  a  famous  picture,  familiar  to  all  present, 
I  think,  and  celebrated  in  the  Old  World  as  well  as  in 
the  New.  .  .  .  Draw  the  curtain,  Cato  1" 

Suddenly  the  curtain  parted,  and  there  stood  the 
living,  breathing  figure  of  the  "  Maid-at- Arms. "  Her 
thick,  gold  hair  clouded  her  cheeks,  her  eyes,  blue  as 
wood-violets,  looked  out  sweetly  from  the  shadowy 
background,  her  armor  glittered. 

A  stillness  fell  over  the  dark  room ;  slowly  the  green 
curtains  closed;  the  figure  vanished. 

There  was  a  roar  of  excited  applause  in  my  ears  as 
I  stumbled  forward  through  the  darkness,  groping 
my  way  towards  the  dim  gun-room  through  which 

201 


Till]    MAID-AT-ARMS 

she  must  pass  to  regain  her  chamber  by  the  narrow 
stairway  which  led  to  the  attic. 

She  was  not  there;  I  waited  a  moment,  listening  in 
the  darkness,  and  presently  I  heard,  s«  ra  oxer- 

head,  a  faint  ringing  sound  and  the  deadened  clash 
of  armed  steps  on  the  garret  floor. 

"Dorothy!"  I  called. 

The  steps  ceased,  and  I  mounted  the  steep  stairway 
and  came  out  into  the  garret,  and  saw  her  standing 
there,  her  armor  outlined  against  the  window  and 
the  pale  starlight  streaming  over  her  steel  shoulder* 
pieces. 

I  shall  never  forget  her  as  she  stood  looking  at  me, 
her  steel-clad  figure  half  buried  in  the  darkness,  yet 
dimly  apparent  in  its  youthful  symmetry  where  the 
starlight  fell  on  the  curve  of  cuisse  and  greave,  ulmi- 
mering  on  the  inlaid  gorget  with  an  unearthly  1;- lit, 
and  Mining  pale  sparks  like  fire-flies  tangled  in  her 
hair. 

(1  I  please  you?"  she  whispered.  "  Did  I  not  sur- 
prise you?  Cato  scoured  the  armor  f<  the 
same  armor  she  wore,  they  say — the  Maid  -  at  -  Arms. 
And  it  fits  me  like  ray  leather  clothes,  limb  and  body. 
Hark!  .  v  are  applauding  yet  I  But  I  do  not 
mean  to  spoil  the  magic  picture  by  a  senseless  repeti- 
tion. .  .  .  And  some  are  sure  to  say  a  ghost  appeared. 
. .  .  Why  are  you  so  silent  ?  >t  please  you?" 

She  flung  casque  and  sword  on  the  floor,  cleared  her 
white  forehead  from  its  tumhled  veil  of  hair;  then  bent 
nearer,  scanning  my  eyes  close 

"Is  aught  amiss?"  she  asked,  under  her  breath. 

I  turned  and  slowly  traversed  the  upper  hallway  to 
her  chamber  door,  she  walking  beside  me  in  silence, 
striving  to  read  my  face. 

"Let  your  maids  disarm  you,"  I  whispered;  "then 
drc.vs  and  tap  at  my  door.  I  shall  be  waiting." 

202 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"Tell  me  now,  cousin." 

"No;  dress  first." 

"  It  will  take  too  long  to  do  my  hair.  Oh,  tell  me! 
You  have  frightened  me." 

"It  is  nothing  to  frighten  you,"  I  said.  "Put  off 
your  armor  and  come  to  my  door.  Will  you  promise?" 

"Ye-es,"  she  faltered;  and  I  turned  and  hastened 
to  my  own  chamber,  to  prepare  for  the  business  which 
lay  before  me. 

I  dressed  rapidly,  my  thoughts  in  a  whirl ;  but  I  had 
scarcely  slung  powder-horn  and  pouch,  and  belted 
in  my  hunting-shirt,  when  there  came  a  rapping  at 
the  door,  and  I  opened  it  and  stepped  out  into  the  dim 
hallway. 

At  sight  of  me  she  understood,  and  turned  quite 
white,  standing  there  in  her  boudoir -robe  of  China 
silk,  her  heavy,  burnished  hair  in  two  loose  braids  to 
her  waist. 

In  silence  I  lifted  her  listless  hands  and  kissed  the 
fingers,  then  the  cold  wrists  and  palms.  And  I  saw 
the  faint  circlet  of  the  ghost-ring  on  her  bridal  finger, 
and  touched  it  with  my  lips. 

Then,  as  I  stepped  past  her,  she  gave  a  low  cry, 
hiding  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  leaned  back  against 
the  wall,  quivering  from  head  to  foot. 

" Don't  go!"  she  sobbed.     " Don't  go-don't  go!" 

And  because  I  durst  not,  for  her  own  sake,  turn  or 
listen,  I  reeled  on,  seeing  nothing,  her  faint  cry  ring- 
ing in  my  ears,  until  darkness  and  a  cold  wind  struck 
me  in  the  face,  and  I  saw  horses  waiting,  black  in  the 
starlight,  and  the  gigantic  form  of  a  man  at  their 
heads,  fringed  cape  blowing  in  the  wind. 

"All  ready?"  I  gasped. 

"  All  is  ready  and  the  night  fine  I  We  ride  by  Broad- 
albin,  I  think.  .  .  .  Whoa!  back  up!  you  long-eared 
ass!  D'  ye  think  to  smell  a  Mohawk?  ...  Or  is  it 

203 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

your  comrades  on  the  picket -rope  that  bedevil  you? 

.  .  Look  at  the  troop-horses,  sir,  all  a-rolling  « 
backs  in  the  sand,  four  hoofs  1  in  the  air.     It's 

easier  on  yon  sentry  than  when  they're  all  a-squealin' 
and  a-bitin' —  This  way,  sir.  We  swing  by  the  bush 
and  pick  up  the  Iroquois  trail  'twixt  the  Hollow  and 
Mayfield. 


XIV 

ON  DUTY 

A3  we  galloped  into  Broadalbin  Bush  a  house  on 
our  right  loomed  up  black  and  silent,  and  I  saw 
shutters  and  doors  swinging  wide  open,  and  the  stars 
shining  through.  There  was  something  sinister  in 
this  stark  and  tenantless  homestead,  whose  void  case- 
ments stared,  like  empty  eye-sockets. 

"They  have  gone  to  the  Middle  Fort— all  of  them 
except  the  Stoners,"  said  Mount,  pushing  his  horse 
up  beside  mine.  "  Look,  sir  1  See  what  this  red  teiror 
has  already  done  to  make  a  wilderness  of  County 
Tryon — and  not  a  blow  struck  yet!" 

We  passed  another  house,  doorless,  deserted;  and 
as  I  rode  abreast  of  it,  to  my  horror  I  saw  two  shining 
eyes  staring  out  at  me  from  the  empty  window. 

"A  wolf — already!"  muttered  Mount,  tugging  at 
his  bridle  as  his  horse  sheered  off,  snorting ;  and  I  saw 
something  run  across  the  front  steps  and  drop  into  the 
shadows. 

The  roar  of  the  Kennyetto  sounded  nearer.  Woods 
gave  place  to  stump-fields  in  which  the  young  corn 
sprouted,  silvered  by  the  stars.  Across  a  stony  past- 
ure we  saw  a  rushlight  burning  in  a  doorway;  and, 
swinging  our  horses  out  across  a  strip  of  burned  stub- 
ble, we  came  presently  to  Stoner's  house  and  heard 
the  noise  of  the  stream  rushing  through  the  woods 
below. 

I  saw  Sir  George  Covert  immediately;  he  was  sit- 
205 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

ting  on  a  log  under  the  wind*  sod  in  his  uni- 

form, a  dark  military  cloak  mantling  his   should 
and  knees.     When  he  recoi  ic  he  rose  and  came 

to  my  side. 

"Well,  Ormond,"  he  said,  quietly,  "it's  a  comfort 
to  see  you.  Leave  your  horses  will  n  Who  is 

that  with  you — oh.  Jack  Mount?    Th<  :u   rifle- 

men, Elerson  and  Murphy — Morgan's  i<  know." 

The  two  riflemen  saluted  me  with  easy  ceremony 
and  sauntered  over  to  where  Mount  was  standing  at 
our  horses'  heads. 

"I  Kilo,   Catamount  Jack/'   said    '  humor- 

ously.    "Where'd    ye    steal    the    squaw-bucksk 
Look  at  the  macaroni,  Tim — all  yellow  and  purple 
fringe!" 

Mount  surveyed  the  riflemen  in  their  suits  of  brown 
holland  and  belted  rifle-frocks. 

"  Dave  Elerson,  you  look  like  a  Quakeress  in  a  Dutch 
:i,"  he  observed. 

r  nate  turrn  to  yere  leg  he  grudges  ye/' 
said  Murphy  to  K  M    the 

legsav  a  beau  I" 

"Bow-legs,  Dave,"  commented  Mount.  "It's  not 
your  fault,  lad.  I've  seen  'em  run  from  the  Iroquois 
as  fast  as  Tim's—" 

The  bantering  reply  of  the  big  Irishman  was  1< 
me  as  Sir  George  led  me  out  of  earshot,  one  arm  linked 
in  mine. 

I  told  him  briefly  of  my  mission,  of  my  new  rank  in 
the  army.  He  congratulated  me  warmly,  and  asked, 
in  his  pleasant  way,  for  news  of  the  manor,  yet  did 
not  name  Dorothy,  which  surprised  me  to  the  verge 
of  resentment.  Twice  I  spoke  of  her,  and  he  replied 
courteously,  yet  seemed  nothing  eager  to  learn  of 
beyond  what  I  volunteered. 

And  at  last  I  said:  "Sir  George,  may  I  not  claim  a 
206 


ON    DUTY 

kinsman's  privilege  to  wish  you  joy  in  your   great 
happiness?" 

"What  happiness?"  he  asked,  blankly;  then,  in 
slight  confusion,  added:  "You  speak  of  my  betrothal 
to  your  cousin  Dorothy.  I  am  stupid  beyond  pardon, 
Ormond;  I  thank  you  for  your  kind  wishes.  ...  I  sup- 
pose Sir  Lupus  told  you,"  he  added,  vaguely. 

"My  cousin  Dorothy  told  me,"  I  said. 

"Ah!  Yes — yes,  indeed.  But  it  is  all  in  the  future 
yet,  Ormond."  He  moved  on,  switching  the  long  weeds 
with  a  stick  he  had  found.  "  All  in  the  future,"  he  mur- 
mured, absently — "  in  fact,  quite  remote,  Ormond.  .  .  , 
By-the-way,  you  know  why  you  were  to  meet  me?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  I  replied,  coldly. 

"Then  Til  tell  you.  The  General  is  trying  to  head 
off  Walter  Butler  and  arrest  him.  Murphy  and  Elerson 
have  just  heard  that  Walter  Butler's  mother  and  sis- 
ter, and  a  young  lady,  Magdalen  Brant — you  met  her 
at  Varicks' — are  staying  quietly  at  the  house  of  a 
Tory  named  Beacraft.  We  must  strive  to  catch  him 
there;  and,  failing  that,  we  must  watch  Magdalen 
Brant,  that  she  has  no  communication  with  the  Iro- 
quois."  He  lusituted,  head  bent.  "You  see,  the 
General  believes  that  this  young  girl  can  sway  the 
False-Faces  to  peace  or  war.  She  was  once  their  pet 
— as  a  child.  ...  It  seems  hard  to  believe  that  this  lovely 
and  cultivated  young  girl  could  revert  to  such  savage 
customs.  .  .  .  And  yet  Murphy  and  Elerson  credit  it, 
and  say  that  she  will  surely  appear  at  the  False-Faces' 
rites.  ...  It  is  horrible,  Ormond;  she  is  a  sweet  child 
—by  Heaven,  she  would  turn  a  European  court  with 
her  wit  and  beauty!" 

"  I  concede  her  beauty,"  I  said,  uneasy  at  his  warm 
praise,  "but  as  to  her  wit,  I  confess  I  scarcely  ex- 
changed a  dozen  words  with  her  that  night,  and  so 
am  no  judge." 

207 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"  Ah!"  he  said,  with  an  absent-minded  stare. 

"  I    naturally  devoted   myself   to  my  cousin    Doro- 
thy/   I  added,  irritated,  without  knowing  why. 

"  Quite  so— quite  so/'  he  mused.    "  As  I  was  saying, 
it  seems  cruel  to  suspect  Magdalen  Brant,  but 
General  believes  she  can  sway  the  Oneidas  and  Tus- 
caroras.  ...  It  is  a  ghastly  idea.     And  if  she  does 
attempt   this  thing,  it    will    he    through    the    infernal 
machinations  and  devilish  persuasions  of  the  But 
— mark  that,  Ormond!" 

He  turned  short  in  his  tracks  and  made  a  fierce  gest- 
with  his  stick      It  broke  short,  and  he  flung  the 
splintered  ends  into  the  darkness. 

"Why,"  he  said,  warmly,  "there  is  not  a  gentler, 
sweeter  disposition  in  the  world  than  Magdalen  I 
if  no  one  comes  a-tampering  to  wake  the  Iroquois  blood 
in  her.  These  accursed  Butlers  seem  inspired  by  lull 
itself — and  Guy  Johnson! —  What  kind  of  a  man  is 
that,  to  take  this  young  girl  from  Albany,  where  she  had 

otten  what  a  council  lire  meant,  and  bring  her  1 
to  these  savages — sacrifice  her! — undo  all  those  years 
of  culture  and  education! — rouse  in  her  the  donn 
traditions  and  passions  which  she  had  imbibed  with 
her  first  milk,  and   whii  h  she  forgot  when  she  was 
weaned!    That  is  the  truth,  I  till  you!    I  know, 
It  was  my  uncle  who  took  her  from  Guy  Park  and  ^ 
her  to  my  aunt  Livingston.     She  had  the  best  of  school- 
ing; she  was  reared  in  luxury;  she  had  every  ad  v 
tage  that  could  be  gained  in  Albany;  my  aunt  took 
her  to  London  that  she  mitrht  acquire  those  graces  of 
deportment  which  we  but  roughly  i  .  .  Is  it  not 

sickening  to  see  Guy  Johnson  and  Sir  John  exercise 
their  power  of  relationship  and  persuade  her  from  a 
good  home  back  to  t  .  Think  of  it,  Ormond!" 

"  I  do  think  of  it/1  said  I.     'It  is  wrong-  :t  is  cruel 
and  shameful!" 

208 


ON    DUTY 

"It  is  worse/'  said  Sir  George,  bitterly.  "Scarce  a 
year  has  she  been  at  Guy  Park,  yet  to-day  she  is  in 
full  sympathy  with  Guy  and  Sir  John  and  her  dusky 
kinsman,  Brant.  Outwardly  she  is  a  charming,  mod- 
est maid,  and  I  do  not  for  an  instant  mean  you  to  think 
she  is  not  chaste!  The  Irish  nation  is  no  more  famed 
for  its  chastity  than  the  Mohawk,  but  I  know  that  she 
listens  when  the  forest  calls — listens  with  savant  ears, 
Ormond,  and  her  dozen  drops  of  dusky  blood  set  her 
pulses  flying  to  the  free  call  of  the  Wolf  clan!" 

"Do  you  know  her  well?"  I  asked. 

"I?  No.  I  saw  her  at  my  aunt  Livingston's.  It 
was  the  other  night  that  I  talked  long  with  her — for 
the  first  time  in  my  life." 

He  stood  silent,  knee-deep  in  the  dewy  weeds,  hand 
worrying  his  sword-hilt,  long  cloak  flung  back. 

"  You  have  no  idea  how  much  of  a  woman  she  is," 
he  said,  vaguely. 

"  In  that  case,"  I  replied,  "you  might  influence  her." 

He  raised  his  thoughtful  face  to  the  stars,  studying 
the  Twin  Pointers. 

"May  I  try?"  he  asked. 

"  Try?  Yes,  try,  in  Heaven's  name,  Sir  George!  If 
she  must  speak  to  the  Oneidas,  persuade  her  to  throw 
her  influence  for  peace,  if  you  can.  At  all  events,  I 
shall  know  whether  or  not  she  goes  to  the  fire,  for  I  am 
charged  by  the  General  to  find  the  False-Faces  and 
report  to  him  every  word  said.  ...  Do  you  speak  Tus- 
carora,  Sir  George?" 

"  No ;  only  Mohawk,"  he  said.  "  How  are  you  going 
to  find  the  False-Faces'  meeting-place?" 

"If  Magdalen  Brant  goes,  I  go,"  said  I.  "And 
while  I'm  watching  her,  Jack  Mount  is  to  range,  and 
track  any  savage  who  passes  the  Iroquois  trail.  .  .  . 
What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  Murphy  and  Elerson?" 

"Elerson  rides  back  to  the  manor  with  our  horses; 
«*  209 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

we've  no  further  use  for  them  here.  Murphy  follows 
me.  .  .  And  I  think  we  should  be  on  our  way/'  he 
added,  impatiently. 

We  walked  back  to  the  house,  where  old  man  Si 
and  his  two  big  boys  stood  with  our  riflemen,  drinking 


"  Elerson,"  I  said,  "  ride  my  mare  and  lead  the  other 
horses  back  to  Varicks'.  Murphy,  you  will  pilot  us  to 
Beacraft's.  Jack,  go  forward  with  Murf 

Old  Stoner  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his 
hand,  bit  into  a  twist  of  tobacco,  spat  derisively,  and 
said:  "This  pup  Beacraft  swares  he'll  lift  my  haar 
'fore  he  gits  through  with  me!    Threatened  men  1 
long.     Kindly  tell  him  me  an'  ray  sons  is  to  hum. 


. 

The  lug,  lank  boys  laughed,  and  winked  at  me  as  I 
I>assed. 

"Good  trail  an'  many  skelps  to  ye!"  said  old  Stoner. 
"  If  yeseeFrancy  McCraw,  jest  Ull  him  thar'saropean' 
a  apple-tree  waitin'  fur  him  down  to  Fundy's  Bi; 

11   Danny   Redstock  an'  Billy   Bones  that  the 
Stoner  boys  is  smcllin'  almighty  close  on  their  trail1 

Uler  youth. 

Elerson,  in  his  saddle,  gathered  the  bridles  that 
Mount  hi  ruled  him  and  rode  off  into  the  darkness, 
leading  Mount's  horse  and  Sir  George's  at  a  trot.  We 
filed  off  due  west.  Murphy  and  Mount  striding 
lead,  the  noise  of  the  river  below  us  on  our  U  ft.  A 
few  rods  and  we  swung  south,  then  west  into  a  wretched 
Stamp-road  <  'leorirc  said  was  the  Mayfield 

road  and  part  of  the  Sacandaga  trail 

roar  of  the  Kennyetto  accompanied  us,  then  for 
a  while  was  lost  in  the  swaying  murmur  of  the  pines. 
Twice  we  passed  trodden  carrying-places  before  the 
rushing  of  the  river  sounded  once  more  far  below  us 
in  a  gorge;  and  we  descended  into  a  hollow  to  a  ford 

210 


ON    DUTY 

from  which  an  Indian  trail  ran  back  to  the  north.  This 
was  the  Balston  trail,  which  joined  the  Fish-House 
road;  and  Sir  George  said  it  was  the  trail  I  should 
have  followed  had  it  not  been  necessary  for  me  to 
meet  him  at  Fonda's  Bush  to  relieve  him  of  his  horse. 

Now,  journeying  rapidly  west,  our  faces  set  towards 
the  Mayfield  hills,  we  passed  two  or  three  small,  cold 
brooks,  on  stepping-stones,  where  the  dark  sky,  set  with 
stars,  danced  in  the  ripples.  Once,  on  a  cleared  hill, 
we  saw  against  the  sky  the  dim  bulk  of  a  lonely  barn ; 
then  nothing  more  fashioned  by  human  hands  until, 
hours  later,  we  found  Murphy  and  Mount  standing 
beside  some  rough  pasture  bars  in  the  forest.  How 
they  had  found  them  in  the  darkness  of  the  woods — 
for  we  had  long  since  left  the  stump-road — I  do  not 
know;  but  the  bars  were  there,  and  a  brush  fence; 
and  Murphy  whispered  that,  beyond,  a  cow-path  led 
to  Beacraft's  house. 

Now,  wary  of  ambuscade,  we  moved  on,  rifles  primed 
and  cocked,  traversing  a  wet  path  bowered  by  willow 
and  alder,  until  we  reached  a  cornfield,  fenced  with 
split  rails.  The  path  skirted  this,  continuing  under  a 
line  of  huge  trees,  then  ascended  a  stony  little  hill,  on 
which  a  shadowy  house  stood. 

"  Beacraft's,"  whispered  Murphy. 

Sir  George  suggested  that  we  surround  the  house 
and  watch  it  till  dawn;  so  Mount  circled  the  little  hill 
and  took  station  in  the  north,  Sir  George  moved  east- 
ward, Murphy  crept  to  the  west,  and  I  sat  down  under 
the  last  tree  in  the  lane,  cocked  rifle  on  my  knees,  pan 
sheltered  under  my  round  cap  of  doeskin. 

Sunrise  was  to  be  our  signal  to  move  forward.  The 
hours  dragged;  the  stars  grew  no  paler;  no  sign  of 
life  appeared  in  the  ghostly  house  save  when  the 
west  wind  brought  to  me  a  faint  scent  of  smoke,  in- 
visible as  yet  above  the  single  chimney. 

211 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

But  after  a  long  while  I  knew  that  dawn  was  on 
the  way  towards  the  western  hills,  for  a  bird  twitu 
restlessly  in  the  tree  above  me,  and  I  began  to  t 
rather  than  hear,  a  multitude  of  feathered  stirrings 
all  about  me  in  the  darkness. 

Would  dawn  never  come?  The  stars  seemed  brighter 
than  ever — no,  one  on  the  eastern  horizon  twinkled 
paler;  the  blue-black  sky  had  faded;  another  star 
paled ;  others  lost  their  diamond  lustre ;  a  silvery  pallor 
spread  throughout  the  east,  wink  the  increasing  chorus 
of  the  birds  grew  in  my  ears. 

Then  a  cock-crow  rang  out,  close  by,  and  the  bird 
o'  dawn's  clear  fanfare  roused  the  feathered  world  to 
a  rushing  outpour  of  song. 

All  the  east  was  yellow  now;  a  rose -light  quiv- 
ered behind  the  forest  like  the  shimmer  of  a  hidden 
fire;  then  a  blinding  shaft  of  light  fell  across  the 
world. 

mging  to  my  feet,  I  shouldered  my  rifle  and  started 
across  the  pasture,  ankle  deep  in  glittering  dt  v 
as  I  advanced  Sir  George  appeared,  breasting  the  hill 
from  the  east;  Murphy's  big  bulk  loomed  in  tlu  west; 
and,  as  we  met  before  the  door  of  the  house,  Jack  Mount 
sauntered  around  the  corner,  chewing  a  grass-st 
Ins  long,  brown  rifle  cradled  in  his  arm. 

"Rap  on  the  door,  Mount,  1  said.  Mount  gave  a 
round  double  rap,  chewed  his  grass-stem,  considered, 
then  rapped  again,  humming  to  himself  in  an  under- 
tone: 

Is  the  old  fox  in' 
Is  the  old  fox  out" 
1«  the  old  fox  gone  to  Glo-ry? 
Oh,  he's  just  come  in, 
But  he's  just  gone  out, 
And  I  hope  you  like  my  sto-ry  I 
Tmk-a-diddle-diddle-diddle, 
Tink-a-diddle-diddle-dum— " 
212 


ON    DUTY 

"Rap  louder/'  I  said. 

Mount  obeyed,  chewed  reflectively,  and  scratched 
his  ear. 

"  Is  the  Tory  in? 
Is  the  Tory  out? 
Is  the  Tory  gone  to  Glo-ry? 
Oh,  he's  just  come  in, 
But  he's  just  gone  out — " 

"Knock  louder/'  I  repeated. 

Murphy  said  he  could  drive  the  door  in  with  his 
gun-butt;  I  shook  my  head. 

"Somebody's  coming,"  observed  Mount — 

"  Tink-a-diddle-diddle—  " 

The  door  opened  and  a  lean,  dark-faced  man  ap- 
peared, dressed  in  his  smalls  and  shirt.  He  favored 
us  with  a  sour  look,  which  deepened  to  a  scowl  when 
he  recognized  Mount,  who  saluted  him  cheerfully. 

"Hello,  Beacraft,  old  cock!  How's  the  mad  world 
usin'  you  these  palmy,  balmy  days?" 

"Pretty  well,"  said  Beacraft,  sullenly. 

"That's  right,  that's  right,"  cried  Mount.  "My 
friends  and  I  thought  we'd  just  drop  around.  Ain't 
you  glad,  Beacraft,  old  buck?" 

"Not  very,"  said  Beacraft. 

"Not  very!"  echoed  Mount,  in  apparent  dismay  and 
sorrow.  "Ain't  you  enj'yin'  good  health,  Beacraft?" 

"I'm  well,  but  I'm  busy,"  said  the  man,  slowly. 

"So  are  we,  so  are  we/'  cried  Mount,  with  a  brisk 
laugh.  "Come  in,  friends;  you  must  know  my  old 
acquaintance  Beacraft  better;  a  King's  man,  gentle- 
men, so  we  can  all  feel  at  home  now!" 

For  a  moment  Beacraft  looked  as  though  he  meant 
to  shut  the  door  in  our  faces,  but  Mount's  huge  bulk 
was  in  the  way,  and  we  all  followed  his  lead,  enter- 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

ing  a  large,  unplastered  room,  part  kitchen,  part  bed- 
room. 

"A  King's  man,"  repeated  Mount,  cordially,  rub- 
bing his  hands  at  the  smouldering  liiv  and  looking 
around  in  apparent  satisfacti  "A  King's  man; 
what  the  nasty  rebels  call  a  'Tory/  gentlemen.  Myl 
Ain't  this  nice  to  be  all  together  so  fru  ndly  and  cosey 
with  my  old  friend  Beacraft?  Who's  visitiif  ye,  Bea- 
craft?  Anybody  sleepin'  up-stairs,  old  friend  ? 

Beacraft  looked  around  at  us,  and  his  eyes  rested 
on  Sir  George. 

"Who  be  you?"  he  asked. 

s  my  friend,  Mr.  Covert,"  said  Mount,  f 
sweating  cordiality  from   every  pore — "my  dear  old 
friend,  Mr.  Covert — " 

"Oh,"  said  Beacraft,  "I  thought  he  was  Sir  George 
Covert.  .  .  .  And  yonder  stands  your  dear  old  friend 
Timothy  Murphy,  I  suppose?" 

"Exactly,"  smiled  Mount,  rubbing  his  palms  in  ap- 
preciation. 

The  man  gave  me  an  evil  look. 

"1  don't  know  you,"  he  said,  "but  I  could  guess 
your  business. "  And  to  Mount :  "  What  do  you  wai  i 

"  We  want  to  know,"  said  I,  "  whether  Captain  Wal- 
ter Butler  is  lodging  her 

"He  was/'  said  Beacraft,  grimly;  "he  left  yester- 
day." 

"And  I  hope  yon  like  my  sto-ryr 

hummed  Mount,  strolling  about  the  room,  peeping  into 
closets  and  cupboards,  poking  under  the  bed  with 
rifle,  and  finally  coming  to  a  halt  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  with  his  head  on  one  side,  like  a  jay -bird  im- 
mersed in  thought. 

Murphy,  who  had  quietly  entered  the  cellar,  re- 
turned empty-handed,  and,  at  a  signal  from  me,  stepped 

214, 


ON   DUTY 

outside  and  seated  himself  on  a  chopping-block  in  the 
yard,  from  whence  he  commanded  a  view  of  the  house 
and  vicinity. 

"Now,  Mr.  Beacraft,"  I  said,  "  whoever  lodges  above 
must  come  down ;  and  it  would  be  pleasanter  for  every- 
body if  you  carried  the  invitation." 

"  Do  you  propose  to  violate  the  privacy  of  my  house?" 
he  asked. 

"I  certainly  do." 

"  Where  is  your  warrant  of  authority?"  he  inquired, 
fixing  his  penetrating  eyes  on  mine. 

"I  have  my  authority  from  the  General  command- 
ing this  department.  My  instructions  are  verbal — 
my  warrant  is  military  necessity.  I  fear  that  this  ex- 
planation must  satisfy  you." 

"It  does  not,"  he  said,  doggedly. 

"That  is  unfortunate/'  I  observed.  "I  will  give 
you  one  more  chance  to  answer  my  question.  What 
person  or  persons  are  on  the  floor  above?" 

"Captain  Butler  was  there;  he  departed  yesterday 
with  his  mother  and  sister/'  replied  Beacraft,  mali- 
ciously. 

"Is  that  all?" 

"Miss  Brant  is  there,"  he  muttered. 

I  glanced  at  Sir  George,  who  had  risen  to  pace  the 
floor,  throwing  back  his  military  cloak.  At  sight  of 
his  uniform  Beacraft's  small  eyes  seemed  to  dart 
fire. 

"What  were  you  doing  when  we  knocked?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"Cooking,"  he  replied,  tersely. 

"Then  cook  breakfast  for  us  all — and  Miss  Brant," 
I  said.  "  Mount,  help  Mr.  Beacraft  with  the  corn-bread 
and  boil  those  eggs.  Sir  George,  I  want  Murphy  to 
stay  outside,  so  if  you  would  spread  the  cloth— 

"Of  course/'  he  said,  nervously;  and  I  started  up 
215 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

the  flimsy  wooden  stairway,  which  shook  as  I  mount- 
ed. Beacraft's  malignant  eyes  followed  me  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  he  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and 
glowered  at  Mount,  who,  whistling  cheerfully,  squatted 
before  the  fireplace,  blowing  the  embers  with  a  pair  of 
e-made  belle 

On  the  floor  above,  four  doors  faced  the  narrow  pas- 
sage-way. I  knocked  at  one.  A  gentle,  sleepy  voice 
answered : 

"Very  well." 

Then,  in  turn,  I  entered  each  of  the  remaining  r 
and  searched.     In  the  first  room  there  was  nothing 
but  a  bed  and  a  bit  of  mirror  framed  in  pun  ;  in  tlu- 
second,  another  bed  and  a  clothes-press  which  con- 
tained an  empty  cider-jug  and  a  tattered  almanac; 
in  the  third  room  a  mattress  lay  on  the  floor,  and  be- 
lt two  ink-horns,  several  quills,  and  a  sheet  of  blue 
paper,  such  as  comes  wrapped  around  a  sugar-loaf. 
The    licet  of  paper  was  pinned  to  the  floor  with    j 
splinters,  as  though  a  draughtsman  had  prepared  n 
for  drawing  some  plan,  but  there  were  no  lines  on  it, 
and  I  was  about  to  leave  it  when  a  peculiar  odor  in 
the  close  air  of  the  room  brought  me  back  to  re-cxan 
it  on  both  sides. 

re  was  no  mark  on  the  blue  surface.     1  p 
up  an  ink-horn,  sniffed  it,  ,md  spilled  a  drop  of  the 
fluid  on  my  linger.     The  fluid  left  no  stain,  but 
odor  I  had  noticed  certainly  came  from  it.     I  folded  the 
paper  and  placed  it  in  my  beaded  pouch,  tlu  n  deseend- 
ed  the  stairs,  to  find  M<  ring  tlu 

Sir  George  laying  a  cloth  over  the  kitchen  table,  \ 
Beacraft  sat  moodily  by  th  \\u\n:  e\< 

body  askance.  The  fire  needed  nu-ndim:  and  I  used 
the  bellows.  And,  as  1  knelt  there  on  the  he«trth,  I 
saw  a  milky  white  stain  slowly  spread  over  the  linger 
which  I  had  dipped  into  the  ink-horn.  I  walked  to  the 

216 


ON    DUTY 

door  and  stood  in  the  cool  morning  air.     Slowly  the 
white  stain  disappeared. 

"Mount,"  I  said,  sharply,  "you  and  Murphy  and 
Beacraft  will  eat  your  breakfast  at  once — and  be  quick 
about  it/'  And  I  motioned  Murphy  into  the  house 
and  sat  down  on  an  old  plough  to  wait. 

Through  the  open  door  I  could  see  the  two  big  riflemen 
plying  spoon  and  knife,  while  Beacraft  picked  furtively 
at  his  johnny-cake,  eyes  travelling  restlessly  from  Mount 
to  Murphy,  from  Sir  George  to  the  wooden  stairway. 

My  riflemen  ate  like  hounds  after  a  chase,  tipping 
their  porridge-dishes  to  scrape  them  clean,  then  bolted 
eggs  and  smoking  corn-bread  in  a  trice,  and  rose,  tak- 
ing Beacraft  with  them  to  the  doorway. 

"  Fill  your  pipes,  lads/'  1  said.  "Sit  out  in  the  sun 
yonder.  Mr.  Beacraft  may  have  some  excellent  stories 
to  tell  you." 

"  I  must  do  my  work,"  said  Beacraft,  angrily,  but 
Mount  and  Murphy  each  took  an  arm  and  led  the  un- 
willing man  across  the  strip  of  potato-hills  to  a  grassy 
l;n<>ll  under  a  big  oak,  from  whence  a  view  of  the  house 
and  clearing  could  be  obtained.  When  I  entered  the 
house  again,  Sir  George  was  busy  removing  soiled 
plates  and  arranging  covers  for  three ;  and  I  sat  down 
close  to  the  fire,  drawing  the  square  of  blue  paper  from 
my  pouch  and  spreading  it  to  the  blaze.  When  it  was 
piping  hot  I  laid  it  upon  my  knees  and  examined  the 
design.  What  I  had  before  me  was  a  well-drawn  map 
of  the  Kingsland  district,  made  in  white  outline,  show- 
ing trails  and  distances  between  farms.  And,  out  of 
fifty  farms  marked,  forty-three  bore  the  word  "  Rebel," 
and  were  ornamented  by  little  red  hatchets. 

Also,  to  every  house  was  affixed  the  number,  sex,  and 
age  of  its  inhabitants,  even  down  to  the  three-months 
babe  in  the  cradle,  the  number  of  cattle,  the  amount 
of  grain  in  the  barns. 

217 


THE   MA  ID- AT- A  RMS 

Further,  the  Kingsland  district  of  the  county  was 
divided    into   three   sections,   the  first   marked   "Mr- 
Craw's  Gyrations,"  the  second  "  Butler  and  Indians/* 
the  third  "St.  Leger's  Indians  and  Royal  (. 
The  paper  was  signed  by  Uriah  Bi 

After  a  few  moments  I  folded  this  can-fully  prepared 
plan  for  deliberate  and  wholesale  murder  and  placed 
it  in  my  wallet 

Sir  George  looked  up  at  me  with  a  question  in  his 
eyes.    I  nodded,  saying:  "We  have  enough  to  ar 
Beacraft      If  you  cannot  persuade  MagdaKn    llrant, 
we  must  arrest  her,  too.     You  had  best  use  all  y 
art,  Sir  George." 

I  will  do  what  I  can,"  he  said,  gravel  v. 

A  moment  later  a  1  <1  <>n  the  stairs; 

we  both  sprang  to  our  feet  and  removed  our  hats.  Mag- 
dalen Brant  appeared,  fresh  and  sweet  as  a  rose-peony 
on  a  dewy  morning. 

r  George!"  she  exclaimed,  in  flushed  dismay— 
"and  you,  too,  Mr.  Ormond!" 

Sir  George  bowed,  laughingly,  saying  that  «mr  jour- 
ney had  brought  us  so  near  her  that  we  could  not  neglect 
to  pay  our  respects. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Beacraft?"  she  said,  bewildered,  and 
at  the  same  moment  caught  sight  of  him  through  the 
open  doorway,  seated  under  the  oak-tree,  apparently  in 
htful  confab  with  Murphy  and  Mount 

<>  not  quite  understand,"  she  said,  gazing  steadily 
at  Sir  George.  "We  are  King's  people  here.  And 
you-" 

She  looked  at  his  blue-and-buff  uniform,  shaking 
her  head,  then  glanced  at  me  in  my  fringed  buckskins. 

rust  this  war  cannot  erase  the  pleasant  men: 
of  other  days,  Miss  Brant/'  said  Sir  George,  eas 
"May  we  not  have  one  more  hour  together  before  the 
storm  breal; 

218 


ON    DUTY 

"What  storm,  Sir  George?"  she  asked,  coloring  up. 

"The  British  invasion,"  I  said.  "We  have  chosen 
our  colors;  your  kinsmen  have  chosen  theirs.  It  is  a 
political,  not  a  personal  difference,  Miss  Brant,  and 
we  may  honorably  clasp  hands  until  our  hands  are 
needed  for  our  hilts. " 

Sir  George,  graceful  and  debonair,  conducted  her 
to  her  place  at  the  rough  table;  I  served  the  hasty- 
pudding,  making  a  jest  of  the  situation.  And  pres- 
ently we  were  eating  there  in  the  sunshine  of  the  open 
doorway,  chatting  over  the  dinner  at  Varicks',  each 
outvying  the  others  to  make  the  best  of  an  unhappy 
and  delicate  situation. 

Sir  George  spoke  of  the  days  in  Albany  spent  with 
his  aunt,  and  she  responded  in  sensitive  reserve,  which 
presently  softened  under  his  gentle  courtesy,  leaving 
her  beautiful,  dark  eyes  a  trifle  dim  and  her  scarlet 
mouth  quivering. 

"  It  is  like  another  life,"  she  said.  "  It  was  too  lovely 
to  last.  Ah,  those  dear  people  in  Albany,  and  their 
great  kindness  to  mel  And  now  I  shall  never  see 
them  again." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Sir  George.  "My  aunt  Living, 
ston  would  welcome  you." 

"I  cannot  abandon  my  own  kin,  Sir  George,"  she 
said,  raising  her  distressed  eyes  to  his. 

"There  are  moments  when  it  is  best  to  sever  such 
ties,"  I  observed. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  quickly;  "but  this  is  not  the 
moment,  Mr.  Ormond.  My  kinsmen  are  exiled  fugi- 
tives, deprived  of  their  own  lands  by  those  who  have 
risen  in  rebellion  against  our  King.  How  can  I,  whom 
they  loved  in  their  prosperity,  leave  them  in  their  ad- 
versity?" 

"You  speak  of  Guy  Johnson  and  Sir  John?"  I 
asked. 

219 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"Yes;  and  of  those  brave  people  whose  blood  flows 
in  my  veins,"  she  said,  quietly.     "Where  is  the  Mo- 
hawk nation  now,  Sir  George?    This  is  their  country, 
secured  to  them  by  solemn  oath  and  covenant,  in- 
late  for  all  time.     Their  belts  lie  with  the  King  of  Eng- 
land ;  his  belts  lie  still  with  my  people,  the  Moha\\ 
Where  are  they?" 

Fled  to  Oswego  with  Sir  John,"  I  said. 

"And  homeless!"  she  added,  in  a  low,  tense  voice — 
"homeless,  without  clothing,  without  food,  save  what 
Guy  Johnson  gives  them;  their  women  and  children 
iitu-rly  helpless,  the  graves  of  their  fathers  abandoned, 
their  fireplace  at  Onondaga  cold,  and  the  brands  scat- 
tered for  the  first  time  in  a  thousand  years!  Tins 
have  you  Boston  people  done — done  already,  without 
.striking  a  blow." 

She  turned  her  head  proudly  and  looked  straight  at 
Sir  George. 

"Is  it  not  the  truth'.'"  she  asked. 

"Only  in  part,"  he  said,  gently.  Then,  with  in- 
finite pains  and  delicacy,  he  told  her  of  our  govern- 
ment's desire  that  the  Iroquois  should  not  engage  in 
the  struggle;  that  if  they  had  consented  to  neutrality 
they  might  have  remained  in  possession  of  their  lands 
and  all  their  ancient  rights,  guaranteed  by  our  Con- 
gress. 

He  pointed  out  the  fatal  consequences  of  Guy  John- 
son's councils,  the  effect  of  Butler's  lying  promises, 
tin  dreadful  results  of  such  a  struggle  between  Indians, 
maddened  by  the  loss  of  their  own  homes,  and  settlers 
desperately  clinging  to  thei 

is  not  the  Mohawks  I  blame,"  he  said,  "it   is 
those  to  whom  opportunity  has  given  wider  eel 
and   knowledge — the  Tories,  who  are  attcmp 
use  the  Six  Nations  for  their  own  selfish  and  terrible 
ends!  ...  If  in  your  veins  run  a  few  drops  of  Mo- 

220 


ON    DUTY 

hawk  blood,  my  child,  English  blood  runs  there,  too. 
Be  true  to  your  bright  Mohawk  blood ;  be  true  to  the 
generous  English  blood.  It  were  cowardly  to  deny 
either — shameful  to  betray  the  one  for  the  other." 

She  gazed  at  him,  fascinated ;  his  voice  swayed  her, 
his  handsome,  grave  face  held  her.  Whether  it  was 
reason  or  emotion,  mind  or  heart,  I  know  not,  but  her 
whole  sensitive  being  seemed  to  respond  to  his  voice; 
and  as  he  played  upon  this  lovely  human  instrument, 
varying  his  deep  theme,  she  responded  in  every  nerve, 
every  breath.  Reason,  hope,  sorrow,  tenderness,  pas- 
sion— all  these  I  read  in  her  deep,  velvet  eyes,  and  in 
the  mute  language  of  her  lips,  and  in  the  timing 
pulse-beat  under  the  lace  on  her  breast. 

I  rose  and  walked  to  the  door.  She  did  not  heed 
my  going,  nor  did  Sir  George. 

Under  the  oak-tree  I  found  Murphy  and  Mount, 
smoking  their  pipes  and  watching  Beacraft,  who  lay 
with  his  rough  head  pillowed  on  his  arms,  feigning 
slumber. 

"Why  did  you  mark  so  many  houses  with  the  red 
hatchet?"  I  asked,  pleasantly. 

He  did  not  move  a  muscle,  but  over  his  face  a  deep 
color  spread  to  the  neck  and  hair. 

"Murphy,"  I  said,  "take  that  prisoner  to  General 
Schuyler!" 

Beacraft  sprang  up,  glaring  at  me  out  of  bloodshot 
eyes. 

"Shoot  him  if  he  breaks  away,"  I  added. 

From  his  convulsed  and  distorted  lips  a  torrent  of 
profanity  burst  as  Murphy  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  his 
.  shoulder  and  faced  him  eastward.  I  drew  the  blue  pa- 
per from  my  wallet,  whispered  to  Murphy,  and  handed  it 
to  him.  He  shoved  it  inside  the  breast  of  his  hunting- 
shirt,  cocked  his  rifle,  and  tapped  Beacraft  on  the  arm. 

So  they  marched  away  across  the  sunlit  pasture, 

221 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

where  blackbirds  walked  among  the  cattle,  and  tin 
dew  sparkled  in  tinted  drops  of  fire. 

In  all  my  horror  of  the  man  I  pitied  him,  for  I  km -w 
he  was  going  to  his  death,  there  through  the  fresh, 
sweet  morning,  under  the  blue  heavens.     Once  I  saw 
him  look  up,  as  though  to  take  a  last  long  look  at  a  free 
sky,  and  my  heart  ached  heavily.     Yet  he  had  plotted 
death  in  its  most  dreadful  shapes  for  others  who  1< 
life  as  well  as  he-— death  to  neighbors,  death  to  sir 
gers —  whole  families,  whom  he  had   perhaps  m 
even  seen — to  mothers,  to  fathers,  old,  young,  babes 
in  the  cradle,  babes  at  the  breast ;  and  he  had  set  down 
the  total  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-nine  scalps  at  twenty 
dollars  each,  over  hit  own  signature. 

Schuyler  had  said  to  me  that  it  was  not  the  black- 
eyed  Indians  the  people  of  Tryon  County  dreaded,  but 
the  blue -eyed  savages.     And  I  had  scarcely  m, 
stood  at  that  time  how  the  ferocity  of  demons  could  lie 
dormant  in  white  breasts. 

Standing  there  with  Mount  under  the  oak,  I  saw 
Sir  George  and  Magdalen  Brant  leave  the  house  and 
stroll  down  the  path  towards  the  stream.  Sir  George 
was  still  speaking  in  his  quiet,  earnest  manner; 
eyes  were  fixed  on  him  so  that  she  scarce  heeded  her 
steps,  and  twice  long  sprays  of  sweetbrier  caught 
lur  gown,  and  Sir  George  freed  her.  But  her  eyes 
never  wandered  from  him;  and  I  myself  thought  he 

IT  looked  so  handsome  and  courtly  as  he  d 
in  his  officer's  uniform  and  black  cockade. 

Where  their  pathway  entered  the  alders,  below  tin 
lane,  they  vanished  from  our  sight ;  and,  leaving  Mount 
to   watch    I   went   back   to   the   house,  to   search  it 
thoroughly  from  cellar  to  the  dark  garret  beneath 
eaves. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Sir  George  and  Mag- 
dalen Brant  had  not  returned.     I  called  Mount  into  UK 

222 


ON    DUTY 

nouse,  and  we  cooked  some  eggs  and  johnny-cake  to 
stay  our  stomachs.  An  hour  later  I  sent  Mount  out 
to  make  a  circle  of  a  mile,  strike  the  Iroquois  trail  and 
hang  to  it  till  dark,  following  any  traveller,  white  or 
red,  who  might  be  likely  to  lead  him  towards  the  secret 
trysting-place  of  the  False-Faces. 

Left  alone  at  the  house,  I  continued  to  rummage, 
finding  nothing  of  importance,  however;  and  towards 
dusk  I  came  out  to  see  if  I  might  discover  Sir  George 
and  Magdalen  Brant.  They  were  not  in  sight.  I  waited 
for  a  while,  strolling  about  the  deserted  garden,  where 
a  few  poppies  turned  their  crimson  disks  towards  the 
setting  sun,  and  a  peony  lay  dead  and  smelling  rank, 
with  the  ants  crawling  all  over  it.  In  the  mellow  light 
the  stillness  was  absolute,  save  when  a  distant  white- 
throat's  silvery  call,  long  drawn  out,  floated  from  the 
forest's  darkening  edge. 

The  melancholy  of  the  deserted  home  oppressed 
me,  as  though  I  had  wronged  it ;  the  sad  little  house 
seemed  to  be  watching  me  out  of  its  humble  windows, 
like  a  patient  dog  awaiting  another  blow.  Beacraft's 
worn  coat  and  threadbare  vest,  limp  and  musty  as  the 
garments  of  a  dead  man,  hung  on  a  peg  behind  the 
door.  I  searched  the  pockets  with  repugnance  and 
found  a  few  papers,  which  smelled  like  the  covers  of 
ancient  books,  memoranda  of  miserable  little  trans- 
actions— threepence  paid  for  soling  shoes,  twopence 
here,  a  penny  there;  nothing  more.  I  threw  the  pa- 
pers on  the  grass,  dipped  up  a  bucket  of  well-water, 
and  rinsed  my  fingers.  And  always  the  tenantless 
house  watched  me  furtively  from  its  humble  windows. 

The  sun's  brassy  edge  glittered  above  the  blue  chain 
of  hills  as  I  walked  across  the  pasture  towards  the 
path  that  led  winding  among  the  alders  to  the  brook 
below.  I  followed  it  in  the  deepening  evening  light 
and  sat  down  on  a  log,  watching  the  water  swirling 

223 


THE   MAID-AT-ARMS 

through  the  flat  stepping-stones  where  trout  were 
swarming,  leaping  for  the  tiny  winged  ereatures  that 
drifted  across  the  dusl  r.  And  as  I  sat  th 

I  became  aware  of  sounds  like  voices ;  and  at  first,  see* 
no  one,  I  thought  the  noises  came  from  the  low 
bubbling  monotone  of  the  stream.  Then  I  heard  a 
voice  murmuring:  "I  will  do  what  you  ask  me — I 
will  do  everything  you  desi 

Fearful  of  eavesdropping,  I  rose,  peering  ahead  to 
make  myself  known,  but  saw  nothing  in  the  deepen- 
ing dusk.  On  the  point  of  calling,  the  words  died  on 
my  lips  as  the  same  voice  sounded  again,  close  to  me : 

"  I  pray  you  let  me  have  my  way.  I  will  obey  you. 
How  can  you  doubt  it?  But  I  must  obey  in  my  own 
way." 

And  Sir  George's  deep,  pleasant  voice  answered: 
"There  is  danger  to  you  in  this.  I  could  not  endure 
that,  Magdalen.0 

They  were  on  a  path  parallel  to  the  trail  in  ulu  li  I 
stood,  separated  from  me  by  a  deep  fringe  of  willow. 
I  could  not  see  them,  though  now  they  were  slowly 
passing  abreast  of  me. 

"  What  do  you  care  for  a  maid  you  so  easily  per- 
suade?" she  asked,  with  a  little  laugh  that  rang  j 
fully  false  in  the  dusk. 

is  her  own  merciful  heart  that  persuades  her/' 
he  said,  under  his  breath. 

1    think  my  heart  is  merciful/'  she  said — "more 
merciful  than  even  I  knew.     The  restless  blood  in 
set  me  afire  when  1  saw  the  wrong  done  to  these  pati 
people  of  the  Long  House.  .  .  .  And  when  th.-v.-ipjx/aled 
to  me  I  came  here  to  justify  .tnd  bid  them  stand 

for  their  own  hearths.  .  .  .  And  now  }rou  come,  teach- 
ing me  the  truth  concerning  nd  wrong,  and  how 
God  views  justice  and   injustice;  and  how  tli 
pest,  once  loosened,  can  never  be  chained  until  inm> 

224 


ON   DUTY 

cent  and  guilty  are  alike  ingulfed.  ...  I  am  very  young 
to  know  all  these  things  without  counsel.  ...  I  needed 
aid — and  wisdom  to  teach  me — your  wisdom.  Now, 
in  my  turn,  I  shall  teach;  but  you  must  let  me  teach 
in  my  way.  There  is  only  one  way  that  the  Long 
House  can  be  taught.  .  .  .  You  do  not  believe  it,  but 
in  this  I  am  wiser  than  you — I  know." 

"  Will  you  not  tell  me  what  you  mean  to  do,  Mag- 
dalen?" 

"No,  Sir  George." 

"When  will  you  tell  me?" 

"  Never.  But  you  will  know  what  I  have  done.  You 
will  see  that  I  hold  three  nations  back.  What  else  can 
you  ask?  I  shall  obey  you.  What  more  is  there?" 

Her  voice  lingered  in  the  air  like  an  echo  of  flowing 
water,  then  died  away  as  they  moved  on,  until  nothing 
sounded  in  the  forest  stillness  save  the  low  ripple  of  the 
stream.  An  hour  later  I  picked  my  way  back  to  the 
house  and  saw  Sir  George  standing  in  the  starlight, 
and  Mount  beside  him,  pointing  towards  the  east 

"I've  found  the  False -Faces'  trysting- place/'  said 
Mount,  eagerly,  as  I  came  up.  "  I  circled  and  struck 
the  main  Iroquois  trail  half  a  mile  yonder  in  the  bot- 
tom land — a  smooth,  hard  trail,  worn  a  foot  deep,  sir. 
And  first  comes  an  Onondaga  war-party,  stripped  and 
painted  something  sickening,  and  I  dogged  'em  till 
they  turned  off  into  the  bush  to  shoot  a  doe  full  of  ar- 
rows— though  all  had  guns ! — and  left  'em  eating.  Then 
comes  three  painted  devils,  all  hung  about  with  witch- 
drums  and  rattles,  and  I  tied  to  them.  And,  would  you 
believe  it,  sir,  they  kept  me  on  a  fox-trot  straight  east, 
then  south  along  a  deer-path,  till  they  struck  the  Ken- 
nyetto  at  that  sulphur  spring  under  the  big  cliff — you 
know,  Sir  George,  where  Klock's  old  line  cuts  into  the 
Mohawk  country?" 

"  I  know,"  said  Sir  George. 
"  22* 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Mount  took  off  his  cap  and  scratched  his  ear. 

The  forest  is  full  of  little  heaps  of  flat  stones.     I 
could  see  my  painted  friends  with  the  drums  and  ' 

s  stop  as  they  ran  by,  and  each  pull  a  flat  stone  from 
the  river  and  add  it  to  the  nearest  heap.  Then  they 
disappeared  in  the  ravine — and  I  guess  that  settles  it, 
Captain  Ormond. " 

Sir  George  looked  at  me,  nodding. 
That  settles  it,  Ormond,"  he  said 

I  bade  Mount  cook  us  something  to  eat  Sir  George 
looked  after  him  as  he  entered  the  house,  then  began 
a  restless  pacing  to  and  fro,  arms  loosely  clasped  be- 
hind him. 

"About  Magdalen  Brant/'  he  said,  abruptly.    "She 
will  not  speak  to  the  three  nations  for  Butler's  partv 
The  child  had  no  idea  of  this  wretched  conspiracy  to 
turn  the  savages  loose  in  the  valley.    She  thou 
our  people  meant  to  drive  the  Iroquois  from  their  own 
lands — a  black  disgrace  to  us  if  we  ever  dol  .  .  .  They 
implored  her  to  speak  to  them  in  council.     Did  you 
know  they  believe  her  to  be  inspired?    Well,  they  do. 
When  she  was  a  child  they  got  that  notion,  and  <  - 
Johnson  and  Walter  Butler  have  been  lying  to  her  and 
telling  her  what   to  say  to  the  Oneidas  and  Onon- 
dagas." 

He  turned  impatiently,  pacing  the  yard,  scowling, 
and  gnawing  his  lip. 

"Where  is  !  asked. 

"  She  has  gone  to  bed.    She  would  eat  nothing.    We 
must  take  her  back  with  us  to  Albany  and  sumn 
the  sachems  of  the  three  nations,  with  belts." 

*  Yes,"  I  said,  slowly.  "  But  before  we  leave  I  must 
see  the  Fals^Faces." 

"Did  Schuyler  make  that  a  point?" 

"Yes,  Sir  George." 

"They  say  the  False-Faces'  rites  are  terrific/'  he 

226 


ON    DUTY 

muttered.  "Thank  God,  that  child  will  not  be  lured 
into  those  hideous  orgies  by  Walter  Butler!" 

We  walked  towards  the  house  where  Mount  had  \  >iv- 
pared  our  food.  I  sat  down  on  the  door-step  to  eat  my 
porridge  and  think  of  what  lay  before  me  and  how  best 
to  accomplish  it.  And  at  first  I  was  minded  to  send 
Sir  George  back  with  Magdalen  Brant  and  take  only 
Mount  with  me.  But  whether  it  was  a  craven  dread 
of  despatching  to  Dorothy  the  man  she  was  pledged  to 
wed,  or  whether  a  desire  for  his  knowledge  and  expe- 
rience prompted  me  to  invite  his  attendance  at  the 
False-Faces'  rites,  I  do  not  know  clearly,  even  now.  He 
came  out  of  the  house  presently,  and  I  asked  him  if  he 
would  go  with  me. 

"One  of  us  should  stay  here  with  Magdalen  Brant," 
he  said,  gravely. 

"  Is  she  not  safe  here?"  I  asked. 

"  You  cannot  leave  a  child  like  that  absolutely  alone/' 
he  answered. 

"  Then  take  her  to  Varicks',"  I  said,  sullenly.  "  If 
she  remains  here  some  of  Butler's  men  will  be  after  her 
to  attend  the  council." 

"  You  wish  me  to  go  up-stairs  and  rouse  her  for  a 
journey — now  ?" 

"  Yes;  it  is  best  to  get  her  into  a  safe  place,"  I  mut- 
tered. "  She  may  change  her  ideas,  too,  betwixt  now 
and  dawn." 

He  re-entered  the  house.  I  heard  his  spurs  jingling 
on  the  stairway,  then  his  voice,  and  a  rapping  at  the 
door  above. 

Jack  Mount  appeared,  rifle  in  hand,  wiping  his 
mouth  with  his  fingers;  and  together  we  paced  the 
yard,  waiting  for  Sir  George  and  Magdalen  Brant  to 
set  out  before  we  struck  the  Iroquois  trail. 

Suddenly  Sir  George's  heavy  tread  sounded  on  the 
stairs;  he  came  to  the  door,  looking  about  him,  east 

227 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

and  west.  His  features  were  pallid  and  set  and 
seamed  with  stern  lines;  he  laid  an  unsteady  hand 
on  my  arm  and  drew  me  a  jiaee  as; 

"Magdalen  Brant  is  gone,"  he  said. 
I  repeated.     "\\h 

"I  don't  know!"  he  said,  hoarsely. 

I  stared  at  him  in  astonishment.  Gone?  Where? 
Into  the  tremendous  blackness  of  this  wilderness  that 
menaced  us  on  all  sides  like  a  sea?  And  they  had 
thought  to  tame  her  like  a  land-blown  gull  among  the 
poultry! 

"Those  drops  of  Mohawk  blood  are  not  in  hi  \vins 
for  nothing,"  I  said,  bitterly.  "  Here  is  our  first  les- 
son." 

Mr  hunir  his  head.     She  had  lied  to  him  with  in- 
nocent, smooth  face,  as  all  such  fifth-castes  lie.    No 
jewelled  snake  could  shed  her  skin  as  deftly  as  this 
young  maid  had  slipped  from  her  shoulders  the  I 
garment  of  ion. 

The  man  beside  me  stood  as  though  stunned.  I 
was  obliged  to  speak  to  him  thrice  ere  he  roused  to 
follow  Jack  Mount,  who,  at  a  sign  from  me,  had  started 
across  the  dark  hill  side  to  guide  us  to  the  trysting- 
place  of  the  False-Faces'  clan. 

"  Mount  spered,  as  he  lingered  waiting  for  us 

at  the  stepping-stones  in  the  dark,  "some  one  has 
passed  this  trail  since  I  stood  here  an  hour  ago/'  And, 
bending  down,  I  pointed  to  a  high,  flat  stepping-stone, 
which  glimmered  wet  in  the  pale  helit  of  the  si 

Sir  George  drew  his  tinder-box,  struck  steel  to  flint, 
and  lighted  a  short  wax  dip. 
iere!"  whispered  Mor 

On  the  edge  of  the  sand  the  dip-lipht  illuminated  the 
small  imprint  of  a  woman's  shoe,  pointing  southeast 

Magdalen  Brant  had  heard  the  voices  in  the  Long 
House. 

228 


ON   DUTY 

mischief  is  done/'  said  Sir  George,  steadily. 
"I  take  the  blame  and  disgrace  of  this." 

"No;  I  take  it/'  said  I,  sternly.  "Step  back,  Sir 
George.  Blow  out  that  dip!  Mount,  can  you  find 
your  way  to  that  sulphur  spring  where  the  flat  stones 
are  piled  in  little  heaps?" 

The  big  fellow  laughed.  As  he  strode  forward  into 
the  depthless  sea  of  darkness  a  whippoorwill  called. 

"That's  Elerson,  sir,"  he  said,  and  repeated  the 
call  twice. 

The  rifleman  appeared  from  the  darkness,  touch- 
ing his  cap  to  me.  "The  horses  are  safe,  sir,"  he 
said.  "  The  General  desires  you  to  send  your  report 
through  Sir  George  Covert  and  push  forward  with 
Mount  to  Stanwix." 

He  drew  a  sealed  paper  from  his  pouch  and  handed 
it  to  me,  saying  that  I  was  to  read  it. 

Sir  George  lighted  his  dip  once  more.  I  broke  the 
seal  and  read  my  orders  under  the  feeble,  flickering 
light: 

"TEMPORARY  HEADQUARTERS, 

"VARICK  MANOR, 

"  June  i,  1777. 
"  To  Captain  Ormond,  on  scout? 

"  SIR, — The  General  commanding  this  department  desires  you 
to  employ  all  art  and  persuasion  to  induce  the  Oneidas,  Tusca- 
roras,  and  Onondagas  to  remain  quiet.  Failing  this,  you  are 
again  reminded  that  the  capture  of  Magdalen  Brant  is  of  the 
utmost  importance.  If  possible,  make  Walter  Butler  also  pris- 
oner, and  send  him  to  Albany  under  charge  of  Timothy  Mur- 
phy; but,  above  all,  secure  the  person  of  Magdalen  Brant 
and  send  her  to  Varick  Manor  under  escort  of  Sir  George  Covert. 
If,  for  any  reason,  you  find  these  orders  impossible  of  execution, 
send  your  report  of  the  False-Faces'  council  through  Sir  George 
Covert,  and  push  forward  with  the  riflemen  Mount,  Murphy,  and 
Elerson  until  you  are  in  touch  with  Gansevoort's  outposts  at 
Stanwix.  Warn  Colonel  Gansevoort  that  Colonel  Barry  St.  Leger 
has  moved  from  Oswego,  and  order  out  a  strong  scout  towards 
Fort  Niagara.  Although  Congress  authorizes  the  employment  of 

229 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

friendly  One  Idas  as  scouts,  General  Schuylcr  trusts  that  you  \vill 
not  avail  yourself  of  this  liberty.  Noblesse  oblige/  The  General 
directs  you  to  return  only  when  you  have  carried  out  these  order  A 
to  the  best  of  your  ability.  You  will  burn  this  paper  before  you 
act  out  for  Stanwix.  I  am, 

"  Your  most  humble  and  obedient  scr 

"JOHN  HARROW. 
"Major  and  A.  D.  C  to  the  Major-General  Commanding. 

urned)  PHILIP  SCHUYLER, 
"Major-General  Commanding  the  Department  of  the  N< 

•rtification  at  thi  \vn -u  lu-d  muddle  I  had 
already  made  of  my  mission,  I  thrust  the  paper  into 
my  pouch  and  turned  to  Elerson. 
"  You  know  Magdalen  I  I  asked,  impatiently. 

"There  is  a  chance,"  I  said,  "that  she  may  n 

liat  house  on  the  hill  behind  us.     If  she  comes  back 
you  will  see  that  she  does  not  leave  the  house  until 
return  " 

1  Jeorge  extinguished  the  dip  once  more.  Mount 
turned  and  set  off  at  a  swinging  pace  along  the 
1>K-  pith;  after  him  strode  Sir  George;  I  followed,  brood- 
ing bitterly  on  my  stupidity,  and  hopeless  now  of  se- 
curing the  prisoner  in  whose  fragile  hands  the  fate  of 
the  Northland  lay. 


XV 

THE  FALSE-FACES 

FOR  a  long  time  we  had  scented  green  birch  smoke, 
and  now,  on  hands  and  knees,  we  were  crawling 
along  the  edge  of  a  cliff,  the  roar  of  the  river  in  our 
ears,  when  Mount  suddenly  flattened  out  and  I  heard 
him  breathing  heavily  as  I  lay  down  close  beside  him. 

"Look!"  he  whispered,  "the  ravine  is  full  of  fire!" 

A  dull-red  glare  grew  from  the  depths  of  the  ravine; 
crimson  shadows  shook  across  the  wall  of  earth  and 
rock.  Above  the  roaring  of  the  stream  I  heard  an  im- 
mense confused  murmur  and  the  smothered  thumping 
rhythm  of  distant  drumming. 

"Go  on,"  I  whispered. 

Mount  crawled  forward,  Sir  George  and  I  after  him. 
The  light  below  burned  redder  and  redder  on  the  cliff ; 
sounds  of  voices  grew  more  distinct ;  the  dark  stream 
sprang  into  view,  crimson  under  the  increasing  fur- 
nace glow.  Then,  as  we  rounded  a  heavy  jutting 
crag,  a  great  light  flared  up  almost  in  our  faces,  not 
out  of  the  kindling  ravine,  but  breaking  forth  among 
the  huge  pines  on  the  cliffs. 

"  Their  council-fire ! "  panted  Mount.  "  See  them  sit- 
ting there!" 

"Flatten  out,"  I  whispered.  "Follow  me!"  And 
I  crawled  straight  towards  the  fire,  where,  ink  -  black 
against  the  ruddy  conflagration,  an  enormous  pine  lay 
uprooted,  smashed  by  lightning  or  tempest,  I  know  not 
which. 

231 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Into  the  dense  shadows  of  the  d6bris  I  crawled,  Mount 
and  Sir  George  following,  and  lay  there  in  the  dark, 
staring  at  the  forbidden  circle  where  the  secret  mys- 
teries of  the  False-Faces  had  already  begun. 

Three  great  fires  roared,  set  at  regular  intervals  in 
a  cleared  space,  walled  in  by  the  huge  black  pines.  At 
the  foot  of  a  tree  sat  a  white  man,  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  his  chin  in  his  hands.  The  man  was  Walter 
Butler. 

On  his  right  sat  Brant,  wrapped  in  a  crimson  blanket , 
face  painted  black  and  scarlet.    On  his  K  ft  knelt 
a  ghastly  figure  wearing  a  scowling  wooden  mask 
painted  yellow  and  bla 

Six  separate  groups  of  Indians  surrounded  the  fires. 
They  were  sachems  of  the  Six  Nations,  each  sachem 
bearing  in  his  hands  the  symbol  of  his  nation  and  of 
his  clan.  All  were  wrapped  in  black-and-white  blankets, 
and  tluir  faces  were  painted  v.lute  above  the  upper  IIP 
as  though  they  wore  skin-tight  masks. 

ee  young  girls,  naked  save  for  the  beaded  clout, 
and  painted  scarlet  from  brow  to  ankle,  beat  the  witch- 
drums  tump-a-tump!  tuinp-a- tump!  while  a  fourth 
stood,  erect  as  a  vermilion  statue,  holding  a  chain 
belt  woven  in  black-and-white  wampum 

Behind  these  central  figures  the  firelight  fell  on  a 
solid  M  of  savages,  crowns  shaved,  feathers 

aslant  on  the  braided  lock,  and  all  oiled  and  painted 
for  war. 

A  chief,  wrapped  in  a  blue  blanket,  stepped  out  into 
the  circle  summing  the  carcass  of  a  white  dog  by  the 
hind -legs.  He  tied  it  to  a  black -birch  sapling  and 
K  ft  it  d .inkling  and  turning  round  and  round. 

\eepers  of  th  laid,  in  Tus- 

carora,  and  flung  the  dog's  entraiK  into  the  middle  fire. 

Three  young  men  sprang  into  the  ring;  each  threw 
a  log  onto  one  of  the  fires. 

232 


THE    FALSE-FACES 

"The  name  of  the  Holder  of  the  Heavens  may  now 
be  spoken  and  heard  without  offence/'  said  an  old 
sachem,  rising.  "Hark!  brothers.  Harken,  O  you 
wise  men  and  sachems!  The  False-Faces  are  laugh- 
ing in  the  ravine  where  the  water  is  being  painted  with 
firelight.  I  acquaint  you  that  the  False -Faces  are 
coming  up  out  of  the  ravine!" 

The  witch-drums  boomed  and  rattled  in  the  silence 
that  followed  his  words.  Far  off  I  heard  the  sound  of 
many  voices  laughing  and  talking  all  together;  near- 
er, nearer,  until,  torch  in  hand,  a  hideously  masked 
figure  bounded  into  the  circle,  shaking  out  his  bristling 
cloak  of  green  reeds.  Another  followed,  another,  then 
three,  then  six,  then  a  dozen,  whirling  their  blazing 
torches;  all  horribly  masked  and  smothered  in  coarse 
bunches  of  long,  black  hair,  or  cloaked  with  rustling 
river  reeds. 

"Hal    Ah-weh-hot-kwahf 
Hal    Ah-weh-hahf 
Hal    Tlu-  crimson  flower' 
Hal    The  flower  I" 

they  chanted,  thronging  around  the  central  fire;  then 
falling  back  in  a  half-circle,  torches  lifted,  while  the 
masked  figures  banked  solidly  behind,  chanted  monot- 
onously : 

n  Red  fire  burns  on  the  maple  I 
Red  fire  burns  in  the  pines. 
The  red  flower  to  the  ma  pie  I 
The  red  death  to  the  pines  I" 

At  this  two  young  girls,  wearing  white  feathers  and 
white  weasel  pelts  dangling  from  shoulders  to  knees, 
entered  the  ring  from  opposite  ends.  Their  arms  were 
full  of  those  spectral  blossoms  called  "Ghost-corn/' 
and  they  strewed  the  flowers  around  the  ring  in  silence. 
Then  three  maidens,  glistening  in  cloaks  of  green  pine- 

233 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

aeedles,  slipped  into  the  tire  circle,  throwing  showers 
of  violets  and  yellow  moccasin  flowers  over  the  earth, 
calling  out,  amid  laughter,  "Moccasins  for  whipjwor- 
willsl  Violets  for  the  two  heads  entangled!"  And, 
their  arms  empty  of  blossoms,  they  danced  a\\ 
laughing  while  the  False -Faces  clattered  their  wood- 
en masks  and  swung  their  torches  till  the  flames 
whistled. 

Then  six  sachems  rose,  casting  off  their  black-and- 
white  blankets,  and  each  in  turn  planted  branches  of 
yellow  willow,  green  willow,  red  osier,  samphire.  \s  itch- 
hazel,  spice-bush,  and  silver  birch  along  the  edge  of 
the  silent  throng  of  savages. 

"  Until  the  night-sun  comes  be  these  your  barriers, 
O  IroquoisI"  they  chanted.  And  all  answered : 

The  Cherry-maid  shall  lock  the  gates  to  the  People 
of  the  Morning!  A-e!  ja-e!  Wild  cherry  and  cherry 
that  is  red!" 

Then  came  the  Cherry-maid,  a  slender  creatu 
from  head  to  foot  with  thick  bunches  of  wild  cherries 
which  danced  and  swung  when  she  walked;  and  the 
False-Faces  plucked  the  fruit  from  her  as  she  passed 
around,  laughing  and  tossing  her  black  hair,  until 
she  had  been  despoiled  and  only  the  garment  of  sewed 
leaves  hung  from  shoulder  to  ankle 

A  green  blanket  was  spread  for  her  and  she  sat 
down  under  the  branch  of  witch-hazel. 

"The  barrier  is  closed!"  she  said.     "Kindle 
coals  from  Onondaga,  O  you  Keepers  of  the  Central 

An  aged  sachem  arose,  and,  lifting  his  withered  arm, 
swept  it  eastward. 

"  The  hearth  is  cleansed,"  he  said,  feebly.  "  Broth- 
era,  attend  I  She-who-runs  is  coming.  Listen!" 

A  dead  silence  fell  over  the  throng,  broken  only  by 
the  rustle  of  the  flames.  After  a  moment,  very  fa; 

234 


THE    FALSE-FACES 

away  in  the  forest,  something  sounded  like  the  muffled 
gallop  of  an  animal,  paddy-pad!  paddy-pad,  coming 
nearer  and  ever  nearer. 

"It's  the  Toad- woman  1"  gasped  Mount  in  my 
ear.  "It's  the  Huron  witch!  Ah!  My  God!  look 
there!" 

Hopping,  squattering,  half  scrambling,  half  bound- 
ing into  the  firelight  came  running  a  dumpy  creature 
all  fluttering  with  scarlet  rags.  A  coarse  mat  of  gray 
hair  masked  her  visage ;  she  pushed  it  aside  and  raised 
a  dreadful  face  in  the  red  fire-glow — a  face  so  marred, 
so  horrible,  that  I  felt  Mount  shivering  in  the  dark- 
ness beside  me. 

Through  the  hollow  boom-boom  of  the  witch-drums 
I  heard  a  murmur  swelling  from  the  motionless  crowd, 
like  a  rising  wind  in  the  pines.  The  hag  heard  it  too ; 
her  mouth  widened,  splitting  her  ghastly  visage.  A 
single  yellow  fang  caught  the  firelight. 

"O  you  People  of  the  Mountain!  O  you  Ononda- 
gas!"  she  cried.  "  I  am  come  to  ask  my  Cayugas  and 
my  Senecas  why  they  assemble  here  on  the  Kennyettc 
when  their  council-fire  and  yours  should  burn  at  On« 
ondaga!  O  you  Oneidas,  People  of  the  Standing 
Stone!  I  am  come  to  ask  my  Senecas,  my  Mountain- 
snakes,  why  the  Keepers  of  the  Iroquois  Fire  have  let 
it  go  out?  0  you  of  the  three  clans,  let  your  ensigns 
rise  and  listen.  I  speak  to  the  Wolf,  the  Turtle,  and 
the  Bear!  And  I  call  on  the  seven  kindred  clans  of 
the  Wolf,  and  the  two  kindred  clans  of  the  Turtle,  and 
the  four  kindred  clans  of  the  Bear  throughout  the  Six 
Nations  of  the  Iroquois  confederacy,  throughout  the 
clans  of  the  Lenni-Lenape,  throughout  the  Huron-Al- 
gonquins  and  their  clans! 

"  And  I  call  on  the  False-Faces  of  the  Spirit-water 
and  the  Water  of  Light!" 

She  shook  her  scarlet  rags  and,  raising  her  arm 
235 


Till:    MA1D-AT-ARMS 

hurled  a  hatchet  into  a  painted  post  which  stood  be- 
hind the  central  lire. 

"O   you   Caj'ugas,    People   of   the   Carry  in  u-place! 

•ike  that  war-post  with  your  hatchets  or  face  the 
ghosts  of  your  fathers  in  every  trail ! " 

There    was    a    deathly    silence.     Catrine    Montour 
closed  her  horrible  little  eyes,  threw  back  her  head, 
and,  marking  time  with  her  flat  foot,  began  to  chant 
chanted  the  glory  of  t  \*  House;  of  the 

nations  that  drove  the  Erics,  the  Hurons,  the  Al-«>n- 
quins;  of  the  nation  that  purged  the  earth  of  the  St«n- 
Giants;  of  the  nation  that  fought  the  dreadful  battle 
of  the  Flying  Heads.  She  sang  the  triumph  of  the 
confederacy,  the  bonds  that  linked  the  Elder  Broth 
and  Elder  Sons  with  the  Esaurora,  whose  tongue  was 
the  sign  of  council  unr 

And  the  circle  of  savages  began  to  sway  in  rhythm 
to  her  chanting,  answering  back,  callin  :  their  chul- 
:e  from  clan  to  clan;  until,  suddenly,  the  Senecas 
sprang  to  their  feet  and  drove  their  hatehets  into  the 
war-post,  challenging  the  Lenape  with  their  own  bat- 
thxrry: 

Ha-ha!    Hagh!    Yoagh!" 

Then  the  Mohawks  raised  their  truck 

the  post;  and  the  Cayugas  answered  with  a  terrible 
cry,  striking   the  post,  and  calling  out  for  the  N 
Youngest   Son — meaning    the   Tuscaroras — to   draw 
I  hatchets. 

"  Have  the  Seminoles  made  women  of  you?"  screamed 
Catrine  Montour,  menacing  the  sachems  of  the  Tus- 
caroras with  clinched  lists. 

"Let  the  Lenape  tell  you  of  women!"  retorted  a 
Tuscarora  sachem,  cali: 

At  this  opening  of  an  old  wound  the  Oneidas  called 
on  the  Lenape  to  answer;  hut  the  Lenape  sat  sullen 
and  silent,  with  flashing  eyes  fixed  on  the  Mohawks* 


THE    FALSE-FACES 

Then  Catrine  Montour,  lashing  herself  into  a  fury, 
screamed  for  vengeance  on  the  people  who  had  broken 
the  chain -belt  with  the  Long  House.  Raving  and 
frothing,  she  burst  into  a  torrent  of  prophecy,  which 
silenced  every  tongue  and  held  every  Indian  fasci- 
nated. 

"  Look  ! "  whispered  Mount.  "  The  Oneidas  are  draw- 
ing their  hatchets !  The  Tuscaroras  will  follow  1  The 
Iroquois  will  declare  for  warl" 

Suddenly  the  False-Faces  raised  a  ringing  shout : 

"Kree!    Ha-ha!     Kre-e!" 

And  a  hideous  creature  in  yellow  advanced,  rattling 
his  yellow  mask. 

Catrine  Montour,  slavering  and  gasping,  leaned 
against  the  painted  war-post  Into  the  fire-ring  came 
dancing  a  dozen  girls,  all  strung  with  brilliant  wam- 
pum, their  bodies  and  limbs  painted  vermilion,  sleeve- 
less robes  of  wild  iris  hanging  to  their  knees.  With  a 
shout  they  chanted : 

"O  False -Faces,  prepare  to  do  honor  to  the  truth! 
She  who  Dreams  has  come  from  her  three  sisters — the 
Woman  of  the  Thunder-cloud,  the  Woman  of  the  Sound- 
ing Footsteps,  the  Woman  of  the  Murmuring  Skies!" 

And,  joining  hands,  they  cried,  sweetly:  "Come, 
O  Little  Rosebud  Woman! — Ke-neance-e-qua !  0-gin- 
e-o-qua! — Woman  of  the  Rose!" 

And  all  together  the  False-Faces  cried:  "Welcome 
to  Ta-lu-la,  the  leaping  waters!  Here  is  I-£-nia,  the 
wanderer's  rest!  Welcome,  O  Woman  of  the  Rose!" 

Then  the  grotesque  throng  of  the  False-Faces  parted 
right  and  left;  a  lynx,  its  green  eyes  glowing,  paced 
out  into  the  firelight;  and  behind  the  tawny  tree-cat 
came  slowly  a  single  figure — a  young  girl,  bare  of 
breast  and  arm;  belted  at  the  hips  with  silver,  from 
which  hung  a  straight  breadth  of  doeskin  to  the  instep 
of  her  bare  feet  Her  dark  hair,  parted,  fell  in  two 

237 


THE    MA1D-AT-ARMS 

heavy  braids  to  her  knees;  her  lips  were  tinted  with 
scarlet ;  her  small  ear-lobes  and  finger-tips  were  stained 
a  faint  rose-ci  1 

In  the  breathless  *  he  raised  her  head.     Sir 

George's  crushing  grip  clutched  my  arm,  and  he  fell 
a-shuddering  like  a  man  with  ague. 

The  figure  before  us  was  Magdalen  Brai 

The  lynx  lay  down  at  her  feet  and  looked  her  steadily 
in  the  face. 

Slowly  she  raised  her  rounded  arm,  opened  her 
empty  palm;  then  from  space  she  seemed  to  pluck  ,t 
rose,  and  I  saw  it  there  between  her  forefinger  and  her 
thui 

A  startled  murmur  broke  from  the  throng.  "Magic! 
She  plucks  blossoms  from  the  empty  air  I" 

"O  you  Oneidas,"  came  the  sweet,  serene  voice,  "at 
the  tryst  of  the  False-Paces  I  have  kept  my  tryst 

"  You  wise  men  of  the  Six  Nations,  listen  now  at* 
tcntiM'ly;  and  you,  ensigns  and  attestants,  attend, 
honoring  the  truth  which  from  my  twin  lips  shall  flow, 
sweetly  as  new  honey  and  as  sap  from  April  maples." 

She  stooped  and  picked  from  the  ground  a  withered 
leaf,  holding  it  o  r  small,  pink  palm. 

l.ii.r    this   withered   leaf   is  your  understanding. 
1 1  is  for  a  maid  to  quicken  y<  as  I  re- 

store this  last  year's  leaf  to  life,"  she  said,  deliber- 
ately. 

In  her  open  palm  the  dry,  gray  leaf  quivered,  moved, 
straightened,  slowly  turned  moist  and  fresh  and  green. 
Through  the  intense  silence  the  heavy,  gasj  rath 

of  hundreds  of  savages  told  of  the  tension  they  strug- 
gled under. 

She  dropped  the  leaf  to  her  feet;  gradually  it  lost  its 
green  and  curled  up  again,  a  brittle,  ashy  flake. 

"  O  you  Oneidas  I"  she  cried,  in  that  clear  voice  which 
seemed  to  leave  a  floating  melody  in  the  air. "  I  have 


THE    FALSE-FACES 

talked  with  ray  Sisters  of  the  Murmuring  Skies,  and 
none  but  the  lynx  at  my  feet  heard  us." 

She  bent  her  lovely  head  and  looked  into  the  creat- 
ure's blazing  orbs ;  after  a  moment  the  cat  rose,  took 
three  stealthy  steps,  and  lay  down  at  her  feet,  closing 
its  emerald  eyes. 

The  girl  raised  her  head :  "  Ask  me  concerning  the 
truth,  you  sachems  of  the  Oneida,  and  speak  for  the 
five  war-chiefs  who  stand  in  their  paint  behind  you!" 

An  old  sachem  rose,  peering  out  at  her  from  dim, 
aged  eyes. 

"  Is  it  war,  0  Woman  of  the  Rose?"  he  quavered. 

"Neah!"  she  said,  sweetly. 

An  intense  silence  followed,  shattered  by  a  scream 
from  the  hag,  Catrine. 

"  A  lie!  It  is  war!  You  have  struck  the  post, Cayu- 
gas!  Senecas!  Mohawks  1  It  is  a  liel  Let  this  young 
sorceress  speak  to  the  Oneidas ;  they  are  hers ;  the  Tus- 
caroras  are  hers,  and  the  Onondagas  and  the  Lenape! 
Let  them  heed  her  and  her  dreams  and  her  witchcraft! 
It  concerns  not  you,  O  Mountain-snakes!  It  concerns 
only  these  and  False-Faces!  She  is  their  prophetess; 
let  her  dream  for  them.  I  have  dreamed  for  you,  0 
Elder  Brothers!  And  I  have  dreamed  of  war!!" 

"And  I  of  peace!"  came  the  clear,  floating  voice, 
soothing  the  harsh  echoes  of  the  hag's  shrieking  aj>- 
peal.  "  Take  heed,  you  Mohawks,  and  you  Cayuga 
war-chiefs  and  sachems,  that  you  do  no  violence  to  this 
council-fire!" 

"The  Oneidas  are  women!"  yelled  the  hag. 

Magdalen  Brant  made  a  curiously  graceful  gesture, 
as  though  throwing  something  to  the  ground  from  her 
empty  hand.  And,  as  all  looked,  something  did  strike 
the  ground — something  that  coiled  and  hissed  and  rat- 
tled— a  snake,  crouched  in  the  form  of  a  letter  S;  and 
the  lynx  turned  its  head,  snarling,  every  hair  erect. 

239 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"Mohawks  and  Cayugas!"  she  cried;  "are  you  to 
judge  the  Oneidas? — you  who  dare  not  take  this  rat- 

tke  in  your  hands?" 

There  was  no  reply.     She  smiled  and  lifttxl  the  N 
It  coiled  up  in  her  palm,  rattling  and  liftn 
ble  head  to  the  level  of  her  eyes.     The  lynx  growled, 
lie  said,  soothingly.     "The  snake   h.ts 
gone,  0  Tahagoos,  my  friend.     Behold,  my  hand  is 

v ;  Sa-kwe-en-ta,  the  Panged  One  has  gone." 
It  was  true.    There  was  nothing  where,  an  instant 
before,  I  myself  had  seen  the  dread  thing,  crest  sway- 

>n  a  level  with  her  eyes. 

"Will  you  be  swept  away  by  this  young  witch's 
magic?"  shrieked  Catrine  Montour. 

ed   Magdalen   Brant,   "the  way    is 
clearedl    Hiro  [I  have  si 

Then  the  sachems  of  the  Oneida  stood  up,  wrapping 

:nselves  in  their  blankets,  and  moved  silently  away, 

tiling  into  the  forest,  followed  by  the  war  and 

those  who  had  accompanied  the  Oneida  delegation 

as  attestants. 

"Tuscarorast"  said  Magdalen  Brant,  quietly. 
The  Tuscarora  sachems  rose  and  passed  out  into 
the  darkness,  followed  by  their  suite  of  war-chiefs  and 
attestants. 

"Onondagas!" 

All  but  two  of  the  Onondaga  delega  R   the 

K  il-fire.     Amid  a  profound  silence  the  Lenape  fal- 
lowed, and  in  their  wake  stalked  three  tall  Mol 

Walter  Butler  sprang  up  from  the  base  of  the  tree 
where  he  had  been  sitting  and  pointed  a  shaking  lin- 
ger at  Magdalen  Brant : 

"Damn  you!"  he  shouted;  "if  you  call  on  my  Mo- 
hawks, 111  cut  your  throat,  you  witch'" 

Brant  bounded  to  his  feet  and  caught  Butler's  rigid, 
outstretched  arm. 

240 


THE    FALSE-FACES 

"  Are  you  mad,  to  violate  a  council-fire?"  he  said, 
furiously.  Magdalen  Brant  looked  calmly  at  Butler, 
then  deliberately  laced  the  sachems. 

"Mohawks!"  she  called,  steadily. 

There  was  a  silence;  Butler's  black  eyes  v/ere  al- 
most starting  from  his  bloodless  visage;  the  hag, 
Montour,  clawed  the  air  in  helpless  fury. 

"Mohawks!"  repeated  the  girl,  quietly. 

Slowly  a  single  war-chief  rose,  and,  casting  aside 
his  blanket,  drew  his  hatchet  and  struck  the  war-post. 
The  girl  eyed  him  contemptuously,  then  turned  again 
and  called : 

"Senecas!" 

A  Seneca  chief,  painted  like  death,  strode  to  the  post 
and  struck  it  with  his  hatchet. 

"Cayuga!"  called  the  mrl,  steadily. 

A  Cayuga  chief  sprang  at  the  post  and  struck  it  twice. 

Roars  of  applause  shook  the  silence;  then  a  masked 
figure  leaped  towards  the  central  fire,  shouting:  "The 
False-Faces'  feast !  Ho !  I loh !  HOKX  >h ! " 

In  a  moment  the  circle  was  a  scene  of  terrific  excesses. 
Masked  figures  pelted  each  other  with  live  coals  from 
the  fires;  dancing,  shrieking,  yelping  demons  leaped 
about  whirling  their  blazing  torches;  witch-drums 
boomed ;  chant  after  chant  was  raised  as  new  dancers 
plunged  into  the  delirious  throng,  whirling  the  car- 
casses of  white  dogs,  painted  with  blue  and  yellow 
stripes.  The  nauseating  stench  of  burned  roast  meat 
filled  the  air,  as  the  False-Faces  brought  quarters  of 
venison  and  baskets  of  fish  into  the  circle  and  dumixjd 
them  on  the  coals. 

Faster  and  more  furious  grew  the  dance  of  the  False- 
Faces.  The  flying  coals  flew  in  every  direction,  stream- 
ing like  shooting-stars  across  the  fringing  darkness. 
A  grotesque  masker,  wearing  the  head-dress  of  a  bull, 
hurled  his  torch  into  the  air ;  the  flaming  brand  lodged 
>«  241 


Till-     MAID-AT-ARMS 

in  the  feathery  top  of  a  pine,  the  foliar  caught  fire, 
and  with  a  crackling  rush  a  vast  whirlwind  of  flame 
and  smoke  streamed  skyward  from  the  forest  giant. 

" To-wen-yon-go  [It  touches  the  sky]!"  howled  the 
/.ed  dancers,  leaping  about,  while  faster  and  faster 
came  the  volleys  of  live  coals,  until  a  young  girl's  hair 
caught  fire. 

"Kah-none-ye-tah-we!"  they  cried,  falling  back  ami 
forming  a  chain  around  her  as  she  wrung  the  sparks 
ii  her  long  hair,  laughing  and  leaping  about  be- 
tween the  flying  coals. 

Then  the  nine  sachems  of  the  Mohawks  rose,  all 
ering  their  breasts  with  their  blankets,  save  the  chief 
sachem,  who  is  called  "The  Two  Voices."    The  ser- 
ried circle  fell  back,  Senecas,  Cayugas,  and  Mohav 

itniK  their  battle-cries;  scores  of  hatchets  glittered, 
knives  flashed. 

All  alone  in  the  circle  stood  Magdalen  Brant,  slim, 
straight,  motionless  as  a  tinted  statue,  her  hands  on 
her  hips.  Reflections  of  the  fires  played  over  her,  in 
amber  and  pearl  and  rose;  violet  lights  lay  under  her 
eyes  and  where  the  hair  shadowed  hrr  hrow.  Then, 
through  the  silence,  a  loud  voice  cried  :  "  Little  Rosebud 
Woman,  the  False-Paces  thank  you!  Koon-wah-yah- 
vas  [They  are  burning  the  white  dog]!" 

She  raised  her  head  and  laid  a  !  heek. 

"  Neah-wen-ha  (I  thank  you],"  she  said,  soft 

At  the  word  the  lynx  rose  and  looked  up  into  her 
face,  then  turned  and  paced  slowly  across  the  circle, 
green  eyes  glowing. 

The  young  girl  loosened  the  braids  of  her  hair:  a 
thick,  dark  cloud  fell  over  her  bare  shoulders  and 
breasts. 

"  She  veils  her  face!"  chanted  the  False-Faces.  "  Re- 
spect  the  veil!  Adieu,  O  Woman  of  the  Rose!" 

Her  hands  fell,  and,  with  l>ent  head,  moving  slow- 
242 


THE    FALSE-FACES 

ly,  pensively,  she  passed  out  of  the  infernal  circle,  the 
splendid  lynx  stalking  at  her  heels. 

No  sooner  was  she  gone  than  hell  itself  broke  loose 
among  the  False-Faces;  the  dance  grew  madder  and 
madder,  the  terrible  rite  of  sacrifice  was  enacted  with 
frightful  symbols.  Through  the  awful  din  the  three 
war- cries  pealed,  the  drums  advanced,  thundering; 
the  iris-maids  lighted  the  six  little  fires  of  black-birch, 
spice-wood,  and  sassafras,  and  crouched  to  inhale  the 
aromatic  smoke  until,  stupefied  and  quivering  in  every 
limb  with  the  inspiration  of  delirium,  they  stood  erect, 
writhing,  twisting,  tossing  their  hair,  chanting  the 
splendors  of  the  future! 

Then  into  the  crazed  orgie  leaped  the  Toad-woman 
like  a  gigantic  scarlet  spider,  screaming  prophecy  and 
performing  the  inconceivable  and  nameless  rites  of 
Ak-e,  Ne-ke,  and  Ge-zis,  until,  in  her  frenzy,  she  went 
stark  mad,  and  the  devil  worship  began  with  the  aw- 
ful sacrifice  of  Leshee  in  Biskoonah. 

Horror-stricken,  nauseated,  I  caught  Mount's  arm, 
whispering :  "  Enough,  in  God's  name !  Come  away  1 " 

My  ears  rang  with  the  distracted  yelping  of  the 
Toad-woman,  who  was  strangling  a  dog.  Faint,  al- 
most reeling,  I  saw  an  iris-girl  fall  in  convulsions ;  the 
stupefying  smoke  blew  into  my  face,  choking  me.  I 
staggered  back  into  the  darkness,  feeling  my  way 
among  the  unseen  trees,  gasping  for  fresh  air.  Be- 
hind me,  Mount  and  Sir  George  came  creeping,  grop- 
ing like  blind  men  along  the  cliffs. 

"This  way,"  whispered  Mount 


XVI 

ON   SCOUT 

CKE  a  pursued  man  hunted  through  a  dream,  I  la- 
bored on,  leaden-limbed,  trembling ;  and  it  seamed 
hours  and  hours  ere  the  blue  starlight  broke  overhead 
and  Beacraft's  dark  house  loomed  stark  and  empty  on 
the  stony  hill 

Suddenly  the  ghostly  call  of  a  whippoorwill  broke 
out  from  the  willows.  Mount  answered ;  Elerson  ap- 
peared in  the  path,  making  a  sign  for  silence. 

igdalen  Brant  entered  the  house  an  hour  since/' 
he  whispered.  "She  sits  yonder  on  the  door-step.  I 
think  she  has  fallen  asleci 

We  stole  forward  through  the  dusk  to\vards  the  si- 
lent figure  on  the  door-step.  She  sat  there,  her  head 
fallen  back  against  the  closed  door,  her  small  hands 
King  half  open  in  her  lap.  Under  her  closed  eyes  the 
dark  circles  of  fatigue  lay ;  a  faint  trace  of  rose  paint 
still  dung  to  her  lips;  and  from  the  ragged  skirt  of  her 
thorn-rent  gown  one  small  foot  was  thrust,  showing 
a  silken  shoe  and  ankle  stained  with  mud. 

There  she  lay,  sleeping,  this  maid  who,  with  her  frail 
strength,  had  split  forever  the  most  powerful  and  an- 
cient  confederacy  the  world  had  ever  known 

Her  superb  sacrifice  of  self,  her  proud  indifference 
to  delicacy  and  shame,  her  splendid  acceptance  of  the 
degradation,  her  instant  and  fearless  execution  of  the 
only  plan  which  could  save  the  land  from  war  with  a 

244 


SCOUT 

united  confederacy,  had  left  us  stunned  with  admira- 
tion and  helpless  gratitude. 

Had  she  gone  to  them  as  a  white  woman,  using  the 
arts  of  civilized  persuasion,  she  could  have  roused 
them  to  war,  but  she  could  not  have  soothed  them  to 
peace.  She  knew  it  —  even  I  knew  that  among  the 
Iroquois  the  Ruler  of  the  Heavens  can  never  speak  to 
an  Indian  through  the  mouth  of  a  white  woman. 

As  an  Oneida,  and  a  seeress  of  the  False -Faces, 
she  had  answered  their  appeal.  Using  every  symbol, 
every  ceremony,  every  art  taught  her  as  a  child,  she 
had  swayed  them,  vanquishing  with  mystery,  con- 
quering, triumphing,  as  an  Oneida,  where  a  single 
false  step,  a  single  slip,  a  moment's  faltering  in  her 
sweet  and  serene  authority  might  have  brought  out 
the  appalling  cry  of  accusation : 

"Her  heart  is  white!" 

And  not  one  hand  would  have  been  raised  to  prevent 
the  sacrificial  test  which  must  follow  and  end  inevitably 
in  a  dreadful  death. 

Mount  and  Elerson,  moved  by  a  rare  delicacy,  turned 
and  walked  noiselessly  away  towards  the  hill-top. 

"Wake  her,"  I  said  to  Sir  George. 

He  knelt  beside  her,  looking  long  into  her  face;  then 
touched  her  lightly  on  the  hand.  She  opened  her  eyes, 
looked  up  at  him  gravely,  then  rose  to  her  feet,  steady- 
ing herself  on  his  bent  arm. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  she  asked,  glancing  anx- 
iously from  him  to  me.  There  was  the  faintest  rimr 
of  alarm  in  her  voice,  a  tint  of  color  on  cheek  and  tem- 
ple. And  Sir  George,  lying  like  a  gentleman,  answered : 
"  We  have  searched  the  trails  in  vain  for  you.  Where 
have  you  lain  hidden,  child?" 

Her  lips  parted  in  an  imperceptible  sigh  of  relief: 
the  pallor  of  weariness  returned. 

245 


Till:    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"  I  have  been  upon  your  business,  Sir  George,"  she 
said,  looking  down  at  her  mud -stained  garments. 
Her  arms  fell  to  her  side;  she  made  a  little  gesture 
with  one  limp  hand.  "  You  see/'  she  said,  "I  prom- 
ised you/'  Then  she  turned,  mounting  the  steps,  pen- 
sively; and,  in  the  doorway,  paused  an  instant,  look* 
ini:  back  at  him  over  her  shoulder. 

And  all  that  ni^ht,  Iving  close  to  the  verge  of  slum- 
ber, I  heard  Sir  George  pacing  the  stony  yard  under 
the  great  stars;  while  the  riflemen,  stretched  bt 
the  hearth,  snored  heavily,  and  the  death-\\  Ued 

iu  the  wall. 

At  dawn  we  three  were  afield,  nosing  the  Sacanda- 
ga  trail  to  count  the  trades  leading  to  the  north— the 
dread  footprints  of  light,  swift  feet  whuh  must  re- 
turn one  day  bringing  to  the  Mohawk  Valley  an  awful 
reckoning. 

At  noon  we  returned.  I  wrote  out  my  report  and 
gave  it  to  Sir  George.  We  spoke  little  together.  I 
did  not  see  Magdalen  Brant  again  until  they  bade  me 
adieu. 

And  now  it  was  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
George  had  already  set  out  with  Magdalen  Hrant  to 
Varicks'  by  way  of  Stoner's ;  Elerson  and  >  i  ood 

I  •  v  the  door,  waiting  to  pilot  me  towards  Gansevoort's 
distant  outposts ;  the  noon  sunshine  filled  the  deserted 
house  and  fell  across  the  table  where  I  sat,  read  HILT 
over  my  instructions  from  Schuyler  ere  I  committed 
the  paper  to  the  flames. 

So  far,  no  thanks  to  myself,  I  had  carried  out  my 
orders  in  all  save  the  appn  n  of  Walter  Butler. 

And  now  I  was  uncertain  whether  to  remain  and  hang 
around  the  council  tin^  for  an  opportunity  to 

seize  Butler,  or  whether  to  push  on  at  once,  warn  Ganse- 
voort  at  Stanwix  that  St  Leger's  motley  army  had 

246 


ON   SCOUT 

set  out  ficm  Oswego,  and  then  return  to  trap  Butler  at 
my  leisure. 

I  crumpled  the  despatch  into  a  ball  and  tossed  it 
onto  the  live  coals  in  the  fireplace;  the  paper  smoked, 
caught  fire,  and  in  a  moment  more  the  black  flakes  sank 
into  the  ashes. 

"Shall  we  burn  the  house,  sir?"  asked  Mount,  as  I 
came  to  the  doorway  and  looked  out 

I  shook  my  head,  picked  up  rifle,  pouch,  and  sack, 
and  descended  the  steps.  At  the  same  instant  a  man 
appeared  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  Elerson  waved  his 
hand,  saying :  "  Here's  that  mad  Irishman,  Tim  Mur- 
phy, back  already." 

Murphy  came  jauntily  up  the  hill,  saluted  me  with 
easy  respect,  and  drew  from  his  pouch  a  small  packet 
of  papers  which  he  handed  me,  nodding  carelessly  at 
Elerson  and  staring  hard  at  Mount  as  though  he  did 
not  recognize  him. 

"Phwat's  this?"  he  inquired  of  Elerson— "a  Frinch 
cooroor,  or  maybe  a  Sac  shquaw  in  a  buck's  shirrt?" 

"  Don't  introduce  him  to  me,"  said  Mount  to  Elerson ; 
"he'll  try  to  kiss  my  hand,  and  I  hate  ceremony." 

"Quit  foolin',"  said  Elerson,  as  the  two  big,  over- 
grown boys  seized  each  other  and  began  a  rough-and- 
tumble  frolic.  "You're  just  cuttin'  capers,  Tim,  be- 
cuz  you've  heard  that  we're  takin'  the  war-path — quit 
pullin'  me,  you  big  Irish  elephant  1  Is  it  true  we're 
takin'  the  war-path?" 

"How  do  I  know?"  cried  Murphy;  but  the  twinkle 
in  his  blue  eyes  betrayed  him;  "bedad,  'tis  home  to 
the  purty  lasses  we  go  this  blessed  day,  f'r  the  crool 
war  is  over,  an'  the  King's  got  the  pip,  an — " 

"Murphy!"  I  said. 

"Sorr,"  he  replied,  letting  go  of  Mount  and  stand- 
ing at  a  respectful  slouch. 

"Did  you  get  Beacraft  there  in  safety?" 
247 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"I  did,  sorr." 

"Any  trouble?" 

"None,  sorr — fr  me." 

I  opened  the  first  despatch,  looking  at  him  keenly. 

"  Do  we  take  the  war-path?"  I  asked. 

"  We  do,  sorr,"  he  said,  blandly.  "  McDonald 's  in  the 
hills  wid  the  McCraw  an'  ten  score  renegades.  Wan  o' 
tluir  scouts  struck  old  man  Schell's  farm  an'  he  put 
buckshot  into  sivintecn  o'  them,  or  I'm  a  liar  where 
I  shtai 

*  I  knew  it,"  muttered  Elerson  to  Mount.  "Where 
you  see  smoke,  there's  fire;  where  you  see  Murphv, 
there's  trouble.  Look  at  the  grin  on  him — and  his 
hatch  ed  up  like  a  Cayuga's  war-axel" 

I  opened  the  despatch;  it  was  from  Schuyl 
termanduiL:   Ins   instructions   for  me  to  go  to  Stan- 
wix,  an-'  ni:  me  to  warn  every  settlement  in  tin- 

Kingsland  district  that  McDonald  and  some  three 
hundred  Indians  and  renegades  were  loose  on  the 
Schoharie,  and  that  their  outlying  scouts  had  struck 
Broadalbin. 

I  broke  the  wax  of  the  second  despatch;  it  was  from 
Harrow,  briefly  thanking  me  for  the  capture  of  Bea- 
craft,  adding  that  the  man  had  been  sent  to  Albany 
to  await  court-martial. 

That  meant  that  Beacraft  must  hang;  a  most  dis- 
agreeable feeling  came  over  me,  and  I  tore  open  the 
third  and  last  paper,  a  bulky  document,  and  read  it 

•  VARICK  MANOR, 

"  June  the  2d. 
"An  hour  to  dawn. 

' '  In  my  bedroom  I  am  writing  to  you  the  adieu  I  should  have 
said  the  night  you  left  Murphy,  a  rifleman,  goes  to  you  with 
despatches  in  an  hour ;  he  will  take  this  to  you,  .  .  .  wherever  you 
are. 

"I  saw  the  man  you  sent  in.     Father  says  he  must  surely 
248 


ON   SCOUT 

hang.  He  was  so  pale  and  silent,  he  looked  so  dreadfully  tired 
—and  I  have  been  crying  a  little — I  don't  know  why,  because  all 
say  he  is  a  great  villain. 

"I  wonder  whether  you  are  well  and  whether  you  remember 
me."  ("me"  was  crossed  out  and  "us"  written  very  care- 
fully.) "  The  house  is  so  strange  without  you.  I  go  into  your 
room  sometimes.  Cato  has  pressed  all  your  fine  clothes.  I  go 
into  your  room  to  read.  The  light  is  very  good  there.  I  am 
reading  the  Poems  of  Pansard.  You  left  a  fern  between  the  pages 
to  mark  the  poem  called '  Our  Deaths ' ;  did  you  know  it?  Do  you 
admire  that  verse?  It  seems  sad  to  me.  And  it  is  not  true, 
either.  Lovers  seldom  die  together."  (This  was  crossed  out, 
and  the  letter  went  on.)  "  Two  people  who  love — "  ("  love " 
was  crossed  out  heavily  and  the  line  continued) — "  two  friends 
seldom  die  at  the  same  instant.  Otherwise  there  would  be  no 
terror  in  death. 

"  I  forgot  to  say  tliat  Isene,  your  mare,  is  very  well.  Papa 
and  the  children  are  well,  and  Ruyven  a-pestering  General  Schuy- 
ler  to  make  him  a  cornet  in  the  legion  of  horse,  and  Cecile,  all  airs, 
goes  about  with  six  officers  to  carry  her  shawl  and  fan. 

"For  me — I  sit  with  Lady  Schuyler  when  I  have  the  opportu- 
nity. I  love  her ;  she  is  so  quiet  and  gentle  and  lets  me  sit  by  her 
for  hours,  perfectly  silent.  Yesterday  she  came  into  your  room, 
where  I  was  sitting,  and  she  looked  at  me  for  a  long  time — so 
strangely — and  I  asked  her  why,  and  she  shook  her  head.  And 
after  she  had  gone  I  arranged  your  linen  and  sprinkled  lavender 
among  it. 

"  You  see  there  is  so  little  to  tell  you,  except  that  in  the  after- 
noon some  Seneca s  and  Tories  shot  at  one  of  our  distant  tenants, 
a  poor  man,  one  Christian  Schell ;  and  he  beat  them  off  and  killed 
eleven,  which  was  very  brave,  and  one  of  the  soldiers  made  a  rude 
song  about  it,  and  they  have  been  singing  it  all  night  in  their 
quarters.  I  heard  them  from  your  room — where  I  sometimes 
eleep — the  air  being  good  there ;  and  this  is  what  they  sang : 

" '  A  story,  a  story 

Unto  you  I  will  teH, 
Concerning  a  brave  hero. 
One  Christian  Schell. 

•*'  Who  was  attacked  by  the  savages* 

And  Tories,  it  is  said; 
But  for  this  attack 
Most  freely  they  bled. 
249 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

*•*  He  fled  unto  his  house 
For  to  save  his  life, 
Where  he  had  left  his  arms 
In  care  of  hrs  wife. 

"'  They  advanced  upon  him 

And  began  to  fire. 
But  Christian  with  his  blunderbus* 
Soon  made  them  retire. 

—  He  wounded  Donald  McDonald 

And  drew  him  in  the  door. 
Who  gave  an  account 
Their  strength  was  sixty-four. 

•"Six  there  was  wounded 

And  eleven  there  was  killed 
Of  this  said  party. 
Before  they  quit  the  field.' 

M  And  I  think  there  are  a  hundred  other  verses,  which  I  wiD 
spare  you;  not  that  I  forget  them,  for  the  soldiers  sang  them 
over  and  over,  and  I  had  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  lie  awake 
and  listen. 

"  So  that  is  all.  I  hear  my  mnssenggr  moving  about  below  ;  I 
am  to  drop  this  letter  down  to  him,  as  all  are  asleep,  and  to  open 
the  big  door  might  wake  them. 

MGood4>ye. 

•  •  •  «  . 

•*  It  was  not  my  rifleman,  only  the  sentry.  They  keep  double 
watch  since  'he  news  came  about  Schell. 

**  Good-b^e.     I  am  thinking  of  you. 

"  DOROTHY. 

**  Postscript— Plea se  make  my  compliments  and  adieux  to  Sir 
George  Covert 

*•  Postscript— The  rifleman  is  here ;  he  is  whistling  like  a  whip* 
poorwill.  I  must  say  good-bye.  I  am  mad  to  go  with  him.  Do 
not  forget  me  I 

"  My  memories  are  so  keen,  so  pitilessly  real,  I  can  scarce  en- 
dure them,  yet  cling  to  them  the  more  desperately. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  write  this — truly  I  did  not!    But  hen 
the  dusk,  I  can  see  your  face  just  as  it  looked  when  you  said 
good-bye  I — so  close  that  I  could  take  it  in  my  arms  despite  my 
vows  and  yours) 

250 


ON   SCOUT 

"  Help  me  to  reason ;  for  even  God  cannot,  or  will  not,  help  me; 
knowing,  perhaps,  the  dreadful  after-life  He  has  doomed  me  to 
for  all  eternity.  If  it  is  true  that  marriages  are  made  in  heaven, 
where  was  mine  made?  Can  you  answer?  I  cannot.  (Tlie 
whimper  of  tfte  whippoorwill  again  I)  Dearest,  good-bye.  Where 
my  body  lies  matters  nothing  so  that  you  hold  my  soul  a  little 
while.  Yet.  even  of  that  they  must  rob  you  one  day.  Oh,  if 
even  in  dying  there  is  no  happiness,  where,  where  does  it  abide? 
Three  places  only  have  I  heard  of :  the  world,  heaven,  arid  hell. 
God  forgive  me.  but  I  think  the  last  could  cover  all. 

"  Say  that  you  love  me  I  Say  it  to  the  forest,  to  the  wind.  Per- 
haps my  soul,  which  follows  you.  may  hear  if  you  only  say  it. 
(Once  more  the  ghost-call  of  the  whippoorwill/)  Dear  lad.  good* 
bycf 


xvn 

THE  FLAG 

DAY  after  day  our  little  scout  of  four  traversed 
roads  and  forests  of  the  Kingsland  district,  warn- 
ing  the  people  at  the  outlying  settlements  and  farms 
that  the  county  militia-call  was  out,  and  that  safety 
lay  only  in  r  families  to  the  forts  and 

responding  to  the  summons  of  authority  without  delay. 

Many  obeyed;  some  rash  or  stubborn  settlers 
pared  to  defend  their  homes.     A  few  made  no  response, 
doubtless  sympathizing  with  their  T<  As  who 

had  fled  to  join  McDonald  or  Sir  John  Johnson  in  the 
North. 

Rumors  were  flying  thick,  every  settle -nu-nt  had  its 
full  covey;  every  cross-road  tavern  buzzed  with  gos- 
sip. As  we  travelled  from  settlement  to  settUn 
we,  too,  heard  something  <>f  v.  hat  had  happened  in 
I :  how  the  Schoharie  militia  had  been 
called  out;  how  one  Hudson  had  been  captured  as 
he  was  gathering  a  band  of  Tories  to  join  the  Butlers ; 
how  a  certain  Captain  Ball  had  raised  a  company  of 
sixty-three  royalists  at  Beaverdam  and  was  fled  to 
J»»hn  ;  how  Captain  George  Mann,  of  the  mi- 
litia, refused  service,  declaring  himself  a  royalist,  and 
disbanding  his  company;  how  Adam  Crysler  had 
thrown  his  important  influence  in  favor  of  the  Ki 
and  that  the  inhabitants  of  Tryon  County  were  ghx 
and  depressed,  seeing  so  many  respectable  gentlemen 
siding  with  the  Tories. 

252 


THE    FLAG 

We  learned  that  the  Schoharie  and  Schenectady  mi- 
litia had  refused  to  march  unless  some  provision  was 
made  to  protect  their  families  in  their  absence;  that 
congress  had  therefore  established  a  corps  of  invalids, 
consisting  of  eight  companies,  each  to  have  one  captain, 
two  lieutenants,  two  ensigns,  five  sergeants,  six  corpor- 
als, two  drums,  two  fifes,  and  one  hundred  men ;  one 
company  to  be  stationed  in  Schoharie,  and  to  be  called 
the  "  Associate  Exempts  " ;  that  three  forts  for  the  pro- 
tection of  the  Schoharie  Valley  were  nearly  finished, 
called  the  Upper,  Lower,  and  Middle  forts. 

More  sinister  still  were  the  rumors  from  the  British 
armies :  Burgoyne  was  marching  on  Albany  from  the 
north  with  the  finest  train  of  artillery  ever  seen  in 
America;  St  Leger  was  moving  from  the  west;  Mc- 
Donald had  started  already,  flinging  out  his  Indian 
scouts  as  far  as  Perth  and  Broadalbin,  and  Sir  Henry 
Clinton  had  gathered  a  great  army  at  New  York  and 
was  preparing  to  sweep  the  Hudson  Valley  from  Fish- 
kill  to  Albany.  And  the  focus  of  these  three  armies 
and  of  Butler's,  Johnson's,  and  McDonald's  renegades 
and  Indians  was  this  unhappy  county  of  Tryon,  torn 
already  with  internal  dissensions;  unarmed,  unpro- 
visioned,  unorganized,  almost  ungarrysoned. 

I  remember,  one  rainy  day  towards  sunset,  coming 
into  a  small  hamlet  where,  in  front  of  the  church, 
some  score  of  farmers  and  yokels  were  gathered,  mar- 
shalled into  a  single  line.  Some  were  armed  with  rifles, 
some  with  blunderbusses,  some  with  spears  and  hay- 
forks.  None  wore  uniform.  As  we  halted  to  watch 
the  pathetic  array,  their  fifer  and  drummer  wheeled  out 
and  marched  down  the  line,  playing  Yankee  Doodle. 
Then  the  minister  laid  down  his  blunderbuss  and,  fac- 
ing the  company,  raised  his  arms  in  prayer,  invoking 
the  "  God  of  Armies  "  as  though  he  addressed  his  sup- 
plication before  a  vast  armed  host. 

253 


THE    MAID-AT  ARMS 


THE  FLAG 


Yal 


'it 
•e 
-WeVk 


.-.  - 


: .      =   - 


-      A 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

anchored  in  some  frontier  haven  than  they  fell  to 
dreaming  of  the  wilderness,  of  the  far  in  the 

trackless  sea  of  trees,  of  the  winds  ruffling  the  forest's 
crests  till  ten  thousand  trees  toss  their  leaves,  silver 
side  up,  as  white-caps  flash,  rolling  in  long  patches  on 
a  heaving  waste  of  waU 

Yet,  in  all  those  weeks  I  never  heard  one  word  or 
hint  of  that  devotion  expressed  or  implied,  not  one 
trace  of  appreciation,  not  one  shadow  of  sentinit 
If  I  ventured  to  speak  of  the  vast  beauty  of  the  woods, 
there  was  no  response  from  my  shy  companions;  one 
appeared  to  vie  with  another  in  concealing  all  feeling 
under  a  careless  mask  and  a  bantering  manner. 

Once  only  can  I  recall  a  voluntary  expression  of 
pleasure  in  beauty;  it  came   fnun  Jack  Mount,  one 
blue  night  in  July,  when  the  heavens  flashed  \\\ 
summer  stars  till  the  vaulted  skies  seemed  plated  solid- 
ly with  crusted  gems. 

hem  stars  look  kind  of  nice,"  he  said,  then  colored 
with  embarrassment  and  spat  a  quid  of  spruce-gum 
the  camp-i 

Yet  humanity  demands  some  outlet  for  accumulated 
sentiment,  and  these  men  found  it  in  the  dirge-like 
songs  and  laments  and  rude  ballads  of  the  wilderness, 
which  I  think  bear  a  close  resemblance  to  the  sailer 
men's  songs,  in  words  as  well  as  in  the  dolorous  i 
odies,  fit  only  for  the  scraping  whine  of  a  two-string 
fiddle  in  a  sugar-camp. 

The  magic  of  June  faded  from  the  forests,  smoth- 
ered under  the  magnificent  and  deeper  glory  of  July's 
golden  green ;  the  early  summer  ripened  into  August, 
mir  us  still  afoot  in  tin  Kini^sland  district  gathering 
in  the  loyal,  warning  the  rash,  comforting  the  down- 
cast, threatening  the  suspected.  T  sses 
bound  for  Saratoga,  I  sent  full  reports  toSchuyler,  hut 
received  no  further  orders.  I  wondered  whether  he  was 

256 


THE    FLAG 

displeased  at  my  failure  to  arrest  Walter  Butler;  and 
we  redoubled  our  efforts  to  gain  news  of  him.  Three 
times  we  heard  of  his  presence  in  or  near  the  Kingsland 
district:  once  at  Tribes  Hill,  once  at  Fort  Plain,  and 
once  it  was  said  he  was  living  quietly  in  a  farm-house 
near  Johnstown,  which  he  had  the  effrontery  to  enter 
in  broad  daylight  But  we  failed  to  come  up  with  him, 
and  to  this  day  I  do  not  know  whether  any  of  this  in- 
formation we  received  was  indeed  correct.  It  was  the 
first  day  of  August  when  we  heard  of  Butler's  presence 
near  Johnstown;  we  had  been  lying  at  a  tavern  called 
"  The  Brick  House/'  a  two-story  inn  standing  where  the 
Albany  and  Schenectady  roads  fork  near  Fox  Creek, 
and  there  had  been  great  fear  of  McDonald's  renegades 
that  week,  and  I  had  advised  the  despatch  of  an  ex- 
press to  Albany  asking  for  troops  to  protect  the  valley 
when  1  chanced  to  overhear  a  woman  say  that  firing 
had  been  heard  in  the  direction  of  Stanwix. 

The  woman,  a  slattern,  who  was  known  by  the 
unpleasant  name  of  Rya's  Pup,  declared  that  Walter 
Butler  had  gone  to  Johnstown  to  join  St  Leger  before 
Stanwix,  and  that  the  Tories  would  give  the  rebels 
such  a  drubbing  that  we  would  all  be  crawling  on  our 
bellies  yelling  for  quarter  this  day  week.  As  the  wench 
was  drunk,  I  made  little  of  her  babble;  but  the  next 
day  Murphy  and  Elerson,  having  been  in  touch  with 
Gansevoort's  outposts,  returned  to  me  with  a  note  from 
Colonel  Willett: 

*  FORT  SCHUYLER  (STANWIX), 

"August  2d. 

"DEAR  SIR, — I  transmit  to  you  the  contents  of  a  letter  from 
Colonel  Gansevoort,  dated  July  28th  : 

" '  Yesterday,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  our  garrison 
•^aa  alarmed  with  the  firing  of  four  guns.  A  party  of  men  was 
'nstantly  despatched  to  the  place  where  the  guns  were  fired,  which 
the  edge  of  the  woods,  about  five  hundred  vards  from  the 

*  257 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

fort ;  but  they  were  too  late.  The  villains  were  fled,  after  having 
shot  three  young  girls  who  were  out  picking  raspberries,  two  of 
whom  were  lying  scalped  and  tomahawked ;  one  dead  and  the 

•r  expiring,  who  died  in  about  half  an  hour  after  she  was 
brought  home.  The  third  had  a  bullet  through  her  face,  and 
crawled  away,  lying  hid  until  we  arrived.  It  was  pitiful.  The 
child  may  live,  but  has  lost  her  mind. 

"  '  This  was  accomplished  by  a  scout  of  sixteen  Tories  of  Colo- 
nel John  Butler's  command  and  two  savages,  Mohawks,  all  under 
direction  of  Captain  Walter  Butler/ 

"  This,  sir,  is  a  revised  copy  of  Colonel  Gansevoort's  letter  to 
Colonel  Van  Schaick.  Permit  me  to  add,  with  the  full  approval 
of  Colonel  Gansevoort,  that  the  scout  under  your  command  warns 
the  militia  at  Whitestown  of  the  instant  approach  of  Colonel  Barry 

!>eger's  regular  troops,  reinforced  by  Sir  John  Johnson's  reg- 
iment of  Royal  Greens,  Colonel  Butler's  Rangers,  McCraw's  out- 
laws, and  seven  hundred  Mohawk,  Seneca,  and  Cayuga  warriors 
under  Brant  and  Walter  Butler.  I  will  add.  air.  that  we  shall 
hold  this  fort  to  the  end.  Respectfully. 

•MARINUS  WILLETT, 

cu  tenant-Colonel." 

Standing  knee-deep  in  the  thick  undergrowth,  I  read 

:er  aloud  to  my  riflenu  n.  amid  a  shocked  silcn 
then  folded   it  ismission  to  General  Schuyler 

when  opportunity  might  offer,  and  signed  Murphy  to 
lead  forward. 

So  Rya's  Pup  was  right  Walter  Butler  had  made 
his  first  mark  on  the  red  Oswego  trail  I 

We  marched  in  absolute  silence,  Murphy  leading, 
every  nerve  on  edge,  straining  eye  and  ear  for  a  sign 
of  the  enemy's  scouts,  now  doubtless  swarming  for- 
ward and  to  cover  the  British  advance. 

But  the  wilderness  is  vast,  and  two  armies  might 
pass  each  other  scarcely  out  of  hail  and  never  know. 

Towards  sundown  1  caught  my  first  glimpse  of  a 
hostile  Iroquois  war -party.  We  had  halted  behind 
some  rocks  on  a  heavily  timbered  slope,  and  Mount 
was  scrutinizing  the  trail  below,  where  a  little  brook 
crossed  it,  flowing  between  mossy  stones;  when,  with- 


THE    FLAG 

out  warning,  a  naked  Mohawk  stalked  into  the  trail, 
sprang  from  rock  to  rock,  traversing  the  bed  of  the 
brook  like  a  panther,  then  leaped  lightly  into  the  trail 
again  and  moved  on.  After  him,  in  file,  followed  some 
thirty  warriors,  naked  save  for  the  clout,  all  oiled  and 
painted,  and  armed  with  rifles.  One  or  two  glanced  up 
along  our  slope  while  passing,  but  a  gesture  from  the 
leader  hastened  their  steps,  and  more  quickly  than  I 
can  write  it  they  had  disappeared  among  the  darken- 
ing shadows  of  the  towering  timber. 

"Bad  luck!"  breathed  Murphy;  "'tis  a  rocky  road 
to  Dublin,  but  a  shorter  wan  to  helll  Did  you  want 
f  'r  to  shoot,  Jack?  Look  at  Dave  Elerson  an'  th'  thrig- 
ger  finger  av  him  twitchin'  all  a-thremblel  Wisha, 
lad!  lave  the  red  omadhouns  go.  Arre  you  tired  o' 
the  hair  ye  wear,  Jack  Mount?  Come  on  out  o'  this, 
ye  crazy  divill" 

Circling  the  crossing  -  place,  we  swung  east,  then 
south,  coming  presently  to  a  fringe  of  trees  through 
which  the  red  sunset  glittered,  illuminating  a  great 
stretch  of  swamp,  river,  and  cleared  land  beyond. 
"  Vender's  the  foort,"  whispered  Murphy— "ould  Stan- 
wix  —  or  Schuyler,  as  they  call  it  now.  Step  this 
way,  sorr;  ye  can  see  it  plain  across  the  Mohawk 
shwamps." 

The  red  sunshine  struck  the  three-cornered  bastions 
of  the  rectangular  fort;  a  distant  bayonet  caught  the 
light  and  twinkled  above  the  stockaded  ditch  like  a 
slender  point  of  flame.  Outside  the  works  squads  of 
troops  moved,  relieving  the  nearer  posts;  working  de- 
tails, marching  to  and  from  the  sawmill,  were  evidently 
busy  with  the  unfinished  abattis;  a  long,  low  earth- 
work, surmounted  by  a  stockade  and  a  block-house, 
which,  Murphy  said,  guarded  the  covered  way  to  the 
creek,  swarmed  with  workmen  plying  pick  and  shovel 
and  crowbar,  while  the  sentries  walked  their  beats 

259 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMR 

above,  watching  the  new  road  which  crossed  the  creek 
and  ran  through  the  swamp  to  the  sawmill. 

It   i  nge,"  said  Mount,  "that  they  have  not 

yet  finished  the  fort" 

1 1  is  stranger  yet,"  said  Elerson,  "  that  they  should 
work  so  close  to  the  forest  yonder.  Look  at  that  fa- 
tigue-party drawing  logs  within  pistol-shot  of  the 
woods—" 

Before  the  rifleman  could  finish,  a  sentinel  on  the 
northwest  parapet  fired  his  musket;  the  entire  so 
changed  in  a  twinkling;  the  fatigue-party  scattered, 
dropping  chains  and  logs;  the  workmen  sprang  ou 
ditch  and  pit,  running  for  the  stockade;  a  man, driv- 
ing a  team  of  hones  along  the  new  road,  jumped  up 
in  his  wagon  and  lashed  his  horses  to  a  gallop  across 
the  rough  meadow;  and  I  saw  the  wagon  sway  HILT 
and  bumping  up  the  slope,  followed  by  a  squad  of 
troops  on  the  double.  Behind  these  ran  a  dozen  men 
driving  some  frightened  cattle;  soldiers  swarmed  out 

the  bastions,  soldiers  flung  open  the  water  gates, 
soldiers  hung  over  parapets,  gesticulating  and  point- 
ing westward. 

Icnly  from  the  bastion  on  the  west  angle  of  the 
fort  a  shaft  of  flame  leaped;  a  majestic  cloud  buried 
the  parapet,  and  the  deep  cannon-thunder  shook  the 
evening  air.  Above  the  writhing  smoke,  now  stained 
pink  in  the  sunset  light,  a  flag  crept  jerkily  up  the 
halyards  of  a  tall  flag -staff,  higher,  higher,  until  it 
caught  the  evening  wind  aloft  and  floated  la/ily  out 
s  the  new  flag/'  whispered  Elerson,  in  an  awed 

e. 
We  stared  at  it,  fascinated.     Never  before  had  the 

Id  seen  that  flag  displayed.  Blood-red  and  silver- 
uhite  the  stripes  rippled;  the  stars  on  the  blue  field 
glimmered  peacefully.  There  it  floated,  serene  above 
Vhe  drifting  cannon -smoke,  the  first  American  flag 

260 


THE    FLAG 

ever  hoisted  on  earth.  A  freshening  wind  caught  it, 
blowing  strong  out  of  the  flaming  west;  the  cannon- 
smoke  eddied,  settled,  and  curled,  floating  across  its 
folds.  Far  away  we  heard  a  faint  sound  from  the 
bastions.  They  were  cheering. 

Cap  in  hand  I  stood,  eyes  never  leaving  the  flag; 
Mount  uncovered,  Elerson  and  Murphy  drew  their 
deer-skin  caps  from  their  heads  in  silence. 

After  a  little  while  we  caught  the  glimmer  of  steel 
along  the  forest's  edge;  a  patch  of  scarlet  glowed  in 
the  fading  rays  of  sunset.  Then,  out  into  the  open 
walked  a  red -coated  officer  bearing  a  white  flag  and 
attended  by  a  drummer  in  green  and  scarlet 

Far  across  the  clearing  we  heard  drums  beating  the 
parley;  and  we  knew  the  British  were  at  the  gates  of 
Stanwix,  and  that  St.  Leger  had  summoned  the  gar- 
rison to  surrender. 

We  waited ;  the  white  flag  entered  the  stockade  gate, 
only  to  reappear  again,  quickly,  as  though  the  fort's 
answer  to  the  summons  had  been  brief  and  final.  Scarce- 
ly had  the  ensign  reached  the  forest  than  bang!  bang! 
bang!  bang!  echoed  the  muskets,  and  the  rifles  spat 
flame  into  the  deepening  dusk  and  the  dark  woods  rang 
with  the  war-yell  of  half  a  thousand  Indians  stripped 
for  the  last  battles  that  the  Long  House  should  ever 
fight. 

About  ten  o'clock  that  night  we  met  a  regiment 
of  militia  on  the  Johnstown  road,  marching  noisily 
north  towards  Whitestown,  and  learned  that  General 
Herkimer's  brigade  was  concentrating  at  an  Oneida 
hamlet  called  Oriska,  only  eight  miles  by  the  river 
highway  from  Stanwix,  and  a  little  to  the  east  of  Or- 
iskany  creek.  An  officer  named  Van  Slyck  also  in- 
formed me  that  an  Oneida  interpreter  had  just  come 
in,  reporting  St.  Leger's  arrival  before  Stanwix,  and 

261 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

warning  Hcrkimer  that  an  ambuscade  had  been  pre- 
pared for  him  should  he  advance  to  raise  the  siege  of 
the  beleaguered  fort 

Learning  that  we  also  had  seen  the  enemy  at  Stan- 
wix,  this  officer  begged  us  to  accompany  him  to  Oriska, 
where  our  information  might  prove  valuable  to  Gem 
Herkimer.  So  I  and  my  three  riflemen  fell  in  as  the 
troops  tramped  past;  and  I,  for  one,  was  astonished  to 
hear  their  drums  beating  so  loudly  in  the  enemy's 
country,  and  to  observe  the  careless  indiscipline  in  the 
ranks,  where  men  talked  loudly  and  their  reckless 
laughter  often  sounded  above  the  steady  rolling  of  the 
drums, 

"Are  there  no  officers  here  to  cuff  their  ears!"  mut- 
tered Mount,  in  disgust 

"Bah!"  sneered  Elerson;  "officers  can't  teach  mi- 
litia—only a  thrashing  does  'era  any  good.  After  all, 
our  people  are  like  the  British,  full  o'  contempt  for 
untried  enemies.  Do  you  recall  how  the  red -coats 
went  swaggering  about  that  matter  o'  Bunker  Hill  ? 
They  make  no  m«  re  frontal  attacks  now,  but  lay  am- 
buscades, and  thank  their  stars  for  the  opportunity." 

A  soldier,  driving  an  ox-team  behind  us,  began  to 
sing  that  melancholy  ballad  called  "  St  Glair's  Defeat " 
The  entire  company  joined  in  the  chorus,  bewailing  the 
late  disaster  at  Ticonderoga,  till  Jack  Mount,  nigh  fran- 
tic with  disgust,  leaped  up  into  the  cart  and  bawled  out : 

"  If  you  must  sing,  damn  you,  I'll  give  something 
that  rings!" 

And  he  lifted  his  deep,  full-throated  voice,  sounding 
the  inarching  song  of  "Morgan's  Men." 

"  The  Lord  He  is  our  rampart  and  our  buckler  and  our  shield  f 
We  must  aid  Him  cleanse  His  temple;  we  must  follow  Him 


To  His  wrath  we  leave  the  guilty,  for  their  punishment  is  sure ; 
To  His  justice  the  downtrodden,  for  His  mercy  shall  endure  I* 

262 


THE    FLAG 

And  out  of  the  darkness  the  ringing  chorus  rose, 
sweeping  the  column  from  end  to  end,  and  the  echoing 
drums  crashed  amenl 

Yet  there  is  a  time  for  all  things — even  for  praising 
God 


xvm 

ORISKANY 

IT  is  due,  no  doubt,  to  my  limited  knowledge  of  mili- 
tary s  and  to  my  lack  of  practical  expen 
that  I  did  not  see  the  battle  of  Oriskany  as  our  Ins. 
torians  have  recorded  it;  nor  did  I,  before  or  during 
the  affair,  notice  any  intelligent  effort  towards  assum- 
ing the  offensive  as  described  by  those  whose  reports 
portray  an  engagement  in  which,  after  the  first  onset, 
some  semblance  of  military  order  reigned. 

So,  as  I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  pict 

a  the  pens  of  abler  men,  I  must  be  content  to  de- 
scribe only  what  I  myself  witnessed  of  that  sad  and 
unnecessary  tragedy. 

For  three  days  we  had  been  camped  near  the  clearing 
called  Oriska,  which  is  on  the  south  bank  of  the  Mo- 
hawk. Here  the  volunteers  and  militia  of  Tryon  Coun- 
ty were  concentrating  from  Fort  Dayton  in  the  utmoet 
disorder,  their  camps  so  foolishly  pitched,  so  slovml  v  in 
those  matters  pertaining  to  cleanliness  and  health,  so 
lequately  guarded,  that  I  saw  no  reason  why  our 
twin  enemies,  St  Leger  and  disease,  should  not  make 
an  end  of  us  ere  we  sighted  the  ramparts  of  Stanwix. 

All  night  long  the  volunteer  soldiery  had  been  in- 
subordinate ano  riotous  in  the  hamlet  of  Oriska, 
thronging  the  roads,  shouting,  singing,  disputing, 
clamoring  to  be  led  against  the  enemy.  Popular  of* 
ficers  were  cheered,  unpopular  officers  jeered  at,  angry 
voices  raised  outside  headquarters,  demanding  to  know 

264 


ORISKANY 

why  old  Honikol  Herkimer  delayed  the  advance.  Even 
officers  shouted,  "  Forward !  forward !  Wake  up  Honi- 
kol!" And  spoke  of  the  old  General  derisively,  even 
injuriously,  to  their  own  lasting  disgrace. 

Towards  dawn,  when  I  lay  down  on  the  floor  of  a 
barn  to  sleep,  the  uproar  had  died  out  in  a  measure; 
but  lights  still  flickered  in  the  camp  where  soldiers 
were  smoking  their  pipes  and  playing  cards  by  the 
flare  of  spi:nter-wood  torches.  As  for  the  pickets,  they 
paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  their  duties,  continu- 
ally leaving  their  posts  to  hobnob  with  neighbors ;  and 
the  indiscipline  alarmed  me,  for  what  could  one  ex- 
pect to  find  in  men  who  roamed  about  where  it  pleased 
them,  howling  their  dissatisfaction  with  their  com- 
mander, and  addressing  their  officers  by  their  first 
names? 

At  eight  o'clock  on  that  oppressive  August  morn- 
ing, while  writing  a  letter  to  my  cousin  Dorothy,  which 
an  Oneida  had  promised  to  deliver,  he  being  about  to 
start  with  a  message  to  Governor  Clinton,  I  was  in- 
terrupted by  Jack  Mount,  who  came  into  the  barn,  say- 
ing that  a  company  of  officers  were  quarrelling  in 
front  of  the  sugar-shack  occupied  as  headquarters. 

I  folded  my  letter,  sealed  it  with  a  bit  of  blue  balsam 
gum,  and  bade  Mount  deliver  it  to  the  Oneida  runner, 
while  I  stepped  up  the  road. 

Of  all  unseemly  sights  that  I  have  ever  had  the 
misfortune  to  witness,  what  I  now  saw  was  the  most 
shameful.  I  pushed  and  shouldered  my  way  through 
a  riotous  mob  of  soldiers  and  teamsters  which  choked 
the  highway;  loud,  angry  voices  raised  in  reproach  or 
dispute  assailed  my  ears.  A  group  of  militia  officers 
were  shouting,  shoving,  and  gesticulating  in  front  of 
the  tent  where,  rigid  in  his  arm-chair,  the  General  sat, 
grim,  narrow -eyed,  silent,  smoking  a  short  clay  pipe. 
Bolt  upright,  behind  him,  stood  his  chief  scout  and  in- 

265 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

tcrpreter,  a  superb  Oneida,  in  all  the  splendor  of  full 
war-paint,  blazing  with  scarlet. 

Colonel  Cox,  a  swaggering,  intrusive,  loud-voiced, 
and  smartly  uniformed  officer,  made  a  sign  for  silence 
and  began  haranguing  the  old  man,  evidently  as  spokes- 
man for  the  party  of  impudent  malcontents  grouped 
about  him.  I  heard  him  demand  that  his  men  be  led 
against  the  British  without  further  delay.  I  heard 
him  condemn  delay  as  unreasonable  and  unwarrant- 
able, and  the  terms  of  speech  he  used  were  unbecom- 
ing to  an  officer. 

"  We  call  on  you,  sir,  in  the  name  of  Tryon  County, 
to  order  us  forward !"  he  said,  loudly.  "  We  are  ready. 
For  God's  sake  give  the  order,  sir!  There  is  no  time 
to  waste,  I  tdl  you!" 

The  old  General  removed  the  pipe  from  his  teeth  and 
leaned  a  little  forward  in  his  chair. 

"Colonel  Cox,"  he  said,  "I  huff  Adam  Helmer  to 
Stanvix  sent,  nut  der  opject  of  inviting  Colonel  Ganse- 
voort  to  addack  py  de  rear  ven  ve  addack  py  dot  Kit 
flank. 

"  So  soon  as  Helmer  comes  dot  fort  py,  Gansevoort  he 
fire  cannon;  und  so  soon  I  hear  cannon,  I  march  1  Not 
pefore,  sir;  not  peforel" 

"How  do  we  know  that  Helmer  and  his  men  will 
ever  reach  Stanwix?"  shouted  Colonel  Paris,  impa- 
•ly. 

"Ve  vait,  und  py  un*  py  ve  know,"  replied 
kimer,  undisturbed. 

•  lie  may  be  dead  and  scalped  by  n<  eered 

Colonel  Visscher. 

"Look  you,  Visscher/'  said  the  old  General;  "it  iss 
I  who  am  here  to  answer  for  your  safety.  Now  comes 
Spencer,  my  Oneida,  mit  a  pelt,  who  svears  to  me  dot 
Brant  und  Butler  an  ambuscade  haff  made  for  me. 
Vat  I  do?  Eh?  I  vait  for  dot  sortie?  Gewiss!" 

266 


ORISKANY 

He  waved  his  short  pipe. 

"For  vy  am  I  an  ass  to  march  me  py  dot  ambus- 
cade? Such  a  foolishness  iss  dot  talk!  I  stay  me  py 
Oriskany  till  I  dem  cannon  hear." 

A  storm  of  insolent  protest  from  the  mob  of  soldiers 
greeted  his  decision;  the  officers  gesticulated  and 
shouted  insultingly,  shoving  forward  to  the  edge  of 
the  porch.  Fists  were  shaken  at  him,  cries  of  impa- 
tience and  contempt  rose  everywhere.  Colonel  Paris 
flung  his  sword  on  the  ground.  Colonel  Cox,  crimson 
with  anger,  roared:  "If  you  delay  another  moment 
the  blood  of  Gansevoort's  men  be  on  your  head!" 

Then,  in  the  tumult,  a  voice  called  out :  "  He's  a 
Tory !  We  are  betrayed  1 "  And  Colonel  Cox  shouted : 
"He  dares  not  march!  He  is  a  coward!" 

White  to  the  lips,  the  old  man  sprang  from  his  chair, 
narrow  eyes  ablaze,  hands  trembling.  Colonel  Bel- 
linger and  Major  Frey  caught  him  by  the  arm,  begging 
him  to  remain  firm  in  his  decision. 

"Py  Gott,  no!"  he  thundered,  drawing  his  sword. 
"If  you  vill  haff  it  so,  your  blood  be  on  your  heads! 
Vorwarts!" 

It  is  not  for  me  to  blame  him  in  his  wrath,  when, 
beside  himself  with  righteous  fury,  he  gave  the  bel- 
lowing yokels  their  heads  and  swept  on  with  them  to 
destruction.  The  mutinous  fools  who  had  called  him 
coward  and  traitor  fell  back  as  their  outraged  com- 
mander strode  silently  through  the  disordered  ranks, 
noticing  neither  the  proffered  apologies  of  Colonel  Paris 
nor  the  stammered  excuses  of  Colonel  Cox.  Behind 
him  stalked  the  tall  Oneida,  silent,  stern,  small  eyes 
flashing.  And  now  began  the  immense  uproar  of  de- 
parture; confused  officers  ran  about  cursing  and  shout- 
ing ;  the  smashing  roll  of  the  drums  broke  out,  beating 
the  assembly;  teamsters  rushed  to  harness  horses; 
dismayed  soldiers  pushed  and  struggled  through 

267 


THE    MAJD-AT-ARMS 

the  mass,  searching  for  their  regiments  and  compa- 
nies. 

Mounted  on  a  gaunt,  gray  horse,  the  General  rode 
through  the  disorder,  quietly  directing  the  incompe- 
tent militia  officers  in  their  tasks  of  collecting  their 
nun;  and  behind  him,  splendidly  horsed  and  cap;m- 
soned,  cantered  the  tall  Onnda,  known  as  Thomas 
Spencer  the  Interpreter,  calm,  composed,  inscrutable 
eyes  fixed  on  his  beloved  leader  and 

The  drums  of  the  Canajoharie  regiment  were  beating 
as  the  drummers  swung  past  me,  sleeves  rolled  up  to 
the  elbows,  sweat  pouring  down  their  sunburned  faces ; 
then  came  Ikrkimer,  all  al  ting  his  saddk  likr 

a  rock,  the  flush  of  anger  still  staining  his  weather- 
age,  his  small,  wrathful  eyes  fixed  on  the 
north. 

Behind  him  rode  Colonels  Cox  and  Paris,  long 
heavy  swords  drawn,  heading  the  Canajoharie  regi 
ment,  which  pressed  forward  excitedly.  The  remain- 
ing regiments  of  Tryon  County  militia  followed,  led  by 
Colonel  Seeber,  Colonel  Bellenger,  Majors  Prey,  Eisen- 
lord,  and  Van  Slyck.  Then  came  the  baggage-wag- 
ons, some  drawn  by  oxen,  some  by  four  horses;  an<l 
in  the  rear  of  these  rode  Colonel  Visscher,  leading  tlu 
Caughnawaga  regiment,  closing  the  dusty  column 

"Damn  them!"  growled  Elerson  toMnrj  h\ ,    il 
advancing  without  Banking-parties  or  scouts.     I  \. 
Dan'l  Morgan  was  here." 

"  Tis  th'  Gineral's  jooty  to  luk  out  f'r  his  throops, 
not  Danny  Morgan's  or  mine,"  replied  the  big  rifle- 
man in  disgust 

The  column  halted.  I  signalled  my  men  to  follow 
me  and  hastened  along  the  flanks  under  a  fire  of  chaff : 
"  Look  at  young  buckskins '  There  go  Morgan's  mac- 
aronis! God  help  the  red-coats  this  dayl  How's  the 
scalp  trade,  so: 

268 


ORISKANY 

Herkimer  was  sitting  his  horse  in  the  middle  of  the 
road  as  I  came  up;  and  he  scowled  down  at  me  when 
I  gave  him  the  officer's  salute  and  stood  at  attention 
beside  his  stirrup. 

"Veil,  you  can  shpeak,"  he  said,  bluntly;  "efery- 
body  shpeaks  but  mel" 

I  said  that  I  and  my  riflemen  were  at  his  disposal 
if  he  desired  leaders  for  flanking-parties  or  scouts ;  and 
his  face  softened  as  he  listened,  looking  down  at  me 
in  silence. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "it  iss  to  my  shame  I  say  dot  my 
sodgers  command  me,  not  I  my  sodgers." 

Then,  looking  back  at  Colonel  Cox,  he  added,  bit- 
terly: 

"  I  haff  ordered  flanking-parties  and  scouts,  but  my 
officers,  who  know  much  more  than  I,  haff  protested 
against  dot  useless  vaste  of  time.  I  thank  you,  sir; 
I  can  your  offer  not  accept" 

The  drums  began  again;  the  impatient  Palatine 
regiment  moved  forward,  yellinir  their  approval,  and 
we  fell  back  to  the  roadside,  while  the  boisterous  troops 
tramped  past,  cheering,  singing,  laughing  in  their  ex- 
citement Mechanically  we  fell  in  behind  the  Caugh- 
nawagas,  who  formed  the  rear-guard,  and  followed  on 
through  the  dust;  meaning  to  go  with  them  only  a 
mile  or  so  before  we  started  back  across  country  with 
the  news  which  I  was  now  at  liberty  to  take  in  person 
to  General  Schuyler. 

For  I  considered  my  mission  at  an  end.  In  one 
thing  only  had  I  failed:  Walter  Butler  was  still  free; 
but  now  that  he  commanded  a  company  of  outlaws 
and  savages  in  St.  Leger's  army,  I,  of  course,  had  no 
further  hope  of  arresting  him  or  of  dealing  with  him  in 
any  manner  save  on  the  battle-field. 

So  at  last  I  felt  forced  to  return  to  Varick  Manor; 
but  the  fear  of  the  dread  future  was  in  me,  and  all  the 

269 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

hopeless  misery  of  a  hopeless  passion  made  of  me  a 
coward,  so  that  I  shrank  from  the  pain  I  must  surely 
inflict  and  endure.  Kinder  for  her,  kinder  for  me,  that 
we  should  never  meet  again 

Not  that  I  desired  to  die.  I  was  too  young  in  life  and 
love  t<>  wish  for  death  as  a  balm.  Besides,  I  knew  it 
could  not  bring  us  peace.  Still,  it  was  one  solution 
of  a  problem  otherwise  so  utterly  hopeless  that  I,  h 
su  k,  had  long  since  wearied  of  the  solving  and  carried 
my  hurt  buried  deep,  fearful  lest  my  prying  senses 
should  stir  me  to  disinter  the  dead  hope  lying  there. 

Absence  renders  passion  endurable.  But  at  sight 
of  her  I  loved  I  knew  I  could  not  endure  it;  and,  un- 
uiin  of  myself,  having  twice  nigh  failed  under  the 
overwhelming  provocations  of  a  love  returned,  I  shrank 
from  the  coming  duel  'twixt  love  and  duty  \\  hu  h  must 
once  more  be  fought  within  my  breast. 

Nor  could  my  duty,  fighting  blindly,  expect  encour- 
agement from  her  I  loved,  save  at  the  last  gasp  and 
under  the  heel  of  love.  Then,  only,  at  the  very  1 
would  she  save  me;  for  there  was  that  withm  her  which 
revolted  at  a  final  wrong, and  I  knew  that  not  even  our 
twin  passion  could  prevail  to  stamp  out  the  last  spark 
of  conscience  and  slay  our  souls  f « 

Brooding,  as  I  trudged  forward  through  the  dust,  I 
became  aware  that  the  drums  had  ceased  their  beatn 
and  that  the  men  were  marching  quietly  with  htile 
laughter  or  noise  of  song. 

The  heat  was  intense,  although  a  black  cloud  had 
pushed  up  above  the  west,  \eiling  the  sun.  Flies 
swarmed  about  the  column;  sweat  poured  from  men 
and  horses;  the  soldiers  rolled  back  their  sleeves  and 
plodded  on,  muskets  a- trail  and  coats  hanging  o 
their  shoulders.  Once,  very  far  away,  the  looming 
horizon  was  veined  with  lightning;  and,  after  a  long 
time,  thunder  sounded. 

270 


ORISKAtfY 

We  had  marched  northward  on  a  rutty  road  some 
two  miles  or  more  from  our  camp  at  Oriska,  and  I 
was  asking  Mount  how  near  we  were  to  the  old  Al- 
gonquin-Iroquois  trail  which  runs  from  the  lakes  across 
the  wilderness  to  the  healing  springs  at  Saratoga, 
when  the  column  halted  and  I  heard  an  increasing 
confusion  of  voices  from  the  van. 

"There's  a  ravine  ahead,"  said  Elerson.  "I'm 
thinking  they'll  have  trouble  with  these  wagons,  for 
there's  a  swamp  at  the  bottom  and  only  a  log-road 
across." 

"  Tis  the  proper  shpot  f'r  to  ambuscade  us,"  ob- 
served Murphy,  craning  his  neck  and  standing  on  tij>- 
toe  to  see  ahead. 

We  walked  forward  and  sat  down  on  the  bank  close 
to  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Directly  ahead  a  ravine,  shaped 
like  a  half-moon,  cut  the  road,  and  the  noisy  Caiui- 
joharie  regiment  was  marching  into  it  The  bottom 
of  the  ravine  appeared  to  be  a  swamp,  thinly  tim- 
bered with  tamarack  and  blue-beech  saplings,  where 
the  reeds  and  cattails  grew  thick,  and  little,  dark  pools 
of  water  spread,  all  starred  with  water-lilies,  shining 
intensely  white  in  the  gloom  of  the  coming  storm. 

"There  do  be  wild  ducks  in  thim  rushes,"  said 
Murphy,  musingly.  "  Sure  I  count  it  sthrange,  Jack 
Mount,  that  thim  burrds  sit  quiet-like  an'  a  screechin' 
rigiment  marchin'  acrost  that  log-road." 

"You  mean  that  somebody  has  been  down  there 
before  and  scared  the  ducks  away?"  I  asked. 

"Maybe,  sorr/'  he  replied,  grimly. 

Instinctively  we  leaned  forward  to  scan  the  rising 
ground  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  ravine.  Nothing 
moved  in  the  dense  thickets.  After  a  moment  Mount 
said  quietly :  "  I'm  a  liar  or  there's  a  barked  twig  show- 
ing raw  wood  alongside  of  that  ledge." 

He  glanced  at  the  pan  of  his  rifle,  then  again  fixed 
271 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

his  keen,  blue  eyes  on  the  tiny  Lrliinmer  of  white  which 
even  I  could  distinguish  now,  though  Heaven  only 
knows  how  his  eyes  had  found  it  in  all  that  tangle. 

"  That's  raw  wood,"  he  repeated. 

"  A  deer  might  bark  a  twig,"  said  I 

"Maybe,  sorr,"  muttered  Murphy;  "but  there's  divfl 
a  deer  w'ud  nibble  sheep-laurel  ." 

The  men  of  the  Canajoharie  regiment  were  climbing 
i lie  hill  on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine  now.  Colonel 
Cox  came  galloping  back,  shouting :  "  Bring  up  those 
wagons  I  The  road  is  clear  1  Move  your  men  forward 
there!" 

Whips  cracked;  the  vehicles  rattled  off  down  hill, 
drivers  yelling,  soldiers  pushing  the  heavy  wheels  for- 
ward over  the  log-road  below  \\lu  <ed  water  as 
the  bumping  wagons  struck  the  causeway. 

I  remember  that  Colonel  Cox  had  just  drawn  bridle, 
half-way  up  the  opposite  incline,  and  was  leaning  for- 
ward in  his  saddle  to  watch  the  progress  of  an  ox-team, 
when  a  rifle-shot  rang  out  and  he  tumbled  clean  out  of 
his  saddle,  striking  the  shallow  water  with  a  spl. 

i   lull  itself  broke  loose  in  that  black  ra\ 
volley  on  volley  poured  into  the  Canajoharie  regime 
officers  fell  from  their  Imrse  s  reeled  and  pitched 

forward  under  the  heels  of  their  plunging  teams;  wag- 
ons collided  and  broke  down,  choking  the  log -road. 
Louder  and  louder  the  terrific  yells  of  the  outlaws  and 
savages  rang  out  on  our  flanks ;  I  saw  our  soldiers  in 
the  ravine  running  frantically  in  all  directions,  falling 
on  the  log-road,  floundering  waist-deep  in  the  water 
and  mud,  slipping,  stumbling,  staggering ;  while  f,i 
and  faster  cracked  the  hidden  rifles,  and  the  pitiless  bul- 
lets pelted  them  from  the  heights  above. 

Stand  1    Stand !  you  fools ! "  bawled  Elerson.  "  Ta  1 ;  < 
to  the  timber!    Every  man  to  a  tree!    For  God's  sake 
mber  Bradd 

272 


ORISKANY 

"Look  out!"  shouted  Mount,  dragging  me  with  him 
to  a  rock.  "Close  up,  Elerson!  Close  up,  Murphy!" 

Straight  into  the  stupefied  ranks  of  the  Caughna- 
waga  company  came  leaping  the  savages,  shooting, 
stabbing,  clubbing  the  dazed  men,  dragging  them 
from  the  ranks  with  shrieks  of  triumph.  I  saw  one 
half-naked  creature,  awful  in  his  paint,  run  up  and 
strike  a  soldier  full  in  the  face  with  his  fist,  then  dash 
out  his  brains  with  a  death-maul  and  tear  his  scalp  off. 

Murphy  and  Mount  were  loading  and  firing  steadily  ; 
Elerson  and  I  kept  our  rifles  ready  for  a  rush.  I  was 
perfectly  stunned;  the  spectacle  did  not  seem  real  to 
me. 

The  Caughnawaga  men,  apparently  roused  from 
their  momentary  stupor,  fell  back  into  small  squads, 
shooting  in  every  direction;  and  the  savages,  unable 
to  withstand  a  direct  fire,  sheered  off  and  came  bound- 
in  ur  past  us  to  cover,  yelping  like  timber- wolves. 
Three  darted  directly  at  us;  a  young  warrior,  painted 
in  bars  of  bright  yellow,  raised  his  hatchet  to  hurl  it  ; 
but  Murphy's  bullet  spun  him  round  like  a  top  till  he 
crashed  against  a  tree  and  fell  in  a  heap,  quivering 
all  over. 

The  two  others  had  leaped  on  Mount.  Swearing, 
threatening,  roaring  with  rage,  the  desperate  giant 
shook  them  off  into  our  midst,  and  cut  the  throat  of 
one  as  he  lay  sprawling — a  sickening  spectacle,  for  the 
poor  wretch  floundered  and  thrashed  about  among  the 
leaves  and  sticks,  squirting  thick  blood  all  over  us. 

The  remaining  savage,  a  chief,  by  his  lock  and 
eagle-quill,  had  fastened  to  Elerson's  legs  with  the 
fury  of  a  tree-cat,  clawing  and  squalling,  while  Mur- 
phy dealt  him  blow  on  blow  with  clubbed  stock,  and 
finally  was  forced  to  shoot  him  so  close  that  the  rifle- 
flame  set  his  greased  scalp-lock  afire. 

"  Take  to  the  timber,  you  Tryon  County  men !  Re- 
*  273 


THE   MAID-AT-ARMS 

member  Braddock!"  shouted  Colonel  Paris,  plunging 

about  on  his  wounded  horse;   while  from  every  tree 

i  hush  rang  out  the  reports  of  the  rifles;  and  the 

idy  stream  of  bullets  poured  into  the  Caughna- 

waga  regiment,  knocking  the  men  down  the  hill-side 

•  the  struggling  mass  below.     Some  dropped  dead 

u h  had  been  shot;  some  rolled  to  the  log-road ; 

some  fell  into  the  marsh,  splashing  and  limping  about 

like  crippled  wild  fowl. 

"Advance  der  Palatine  regiment!"  thundered  Her- 
kimcT.  "Clear  avay  dot  oxen-tear 

A  drummer-boy  of  the  Palatines  beat  the  chari:  ! 
can  see  him  yet,  a  curly-haired  youngster,  knee-deep 
in  the  mud,  his  white,  frightened  face  fixed  on  his 
commander.  They  shot  his  drum  to  pieces;  he  beat 
steadily  on  the  flapping  parchment 

Across    the    swamp  the  Palatines  were  doggedly 
c  limhiiiL:  the  Mope  in  the  face  of  a  terrible  discharge. 
i;iiiu-r   led  them.     As  they  reached  the  crest  of 
the  plateau,  and  struggled  up  and  over,  a  rush  of 
•i   in  green   uniforms  seemed  to  swallow  the  en- 
Palatine  regiment     I  saw  them  bayonet  Major 
Eisenlord  and  finish  him  with  their  rifle-stocks;  they 
stabbed  Major  Van  ;m«i   hurled  themselves  at 

the    mounted  Oneida.     Hatchet   flashing,   the  inter- 
ig  his  horse  straight  into  tlu  yd  ling  onset 
and   went  down,  smothered   under  a  mass  of  ene- 
mies. 

"  Vorw&rts!"  thundered  Herkimer,  standing  straight 
up  in  his  stirrups;  but  they  shot  him  out  of  his  saddle 
and  closed  with  the  Palatines,  hilt  to  hilt 

Major  Frey  and  Colonel  Beilenger  fell  under  their 
horses.  Colonel  Seeber  dropped  dead  into  the  rav 
Captain  Graves  was  dragged  from  the  ranks  and  l>n 
ered  by  bayonets;  but  those  stubborn  Palatines  r.ilmlv 
divided  into  squads,  and  their  steady  fusillade  stopped 

274 


ORISKANY 

the  rush  of  the  Royal  Greens  and  sent  the  flanking 
savages  howling  to  cover. 

Mount,  Murphy,  Elerson,  and  I  lay  behind  a  fallen 
hemlock,  awaiting  the  flank  attack  which  we  now  un- 
derstood must  surely  come.  For  our  regiments  were 
at  last  completely  surrounded,  facing  outward  in  an 
irregular  circle,  the  front  held  by  the  Palatines,  the 
rear  by  the  Caughnawagas,  the  west  by  part  of  the 
Canajoharie  regiment,  and  the  east  by  a  fraction  of 
unbrigaded  militia,  teamsters,  batt-men,  bateaux-men, 
and  half  a  dozen  volunteer  rangers  reinforced  by  my 
three  riflemen. 

The  scene  was  real  enough  to  me  now.  Jack  Mount, 
kneeling  beside  me,  was  attempting  to  clean  the  blood 
from  himself  and  Elerson  with  handfuls  of  dried  leaves. 
Murphy  lay  on  his  belly,  watching  the  forest  in  front 
of  us,  and  his  blue  eyes  seemed  suffused  with  a  light 
of  their  own  in  the  deepening  gloom  of  the  gather- 
ing thunder-storm.  My  nerves  were  all  a-quiver;  the 
awful  screaming  from  the  ravine  had  never  ceased 
for  an  instant,  and  in  thai  darkening,  slimy  pit  I  could 
still  see  a  swaying  mass  of  men  on  the  causeway, 
locked  in  a  death-struggle.  To  and  fro  they  reeled  ; 
hatchet  and  knife  and  gun-stock  glittered,  rising  and 
falling  in  the  twilight  of  the  storm-cloud;  the  flames 
from  the  rifles  flashed  crimson. 

"  Kape  ye 're  eyes  to  the  front,  sorr ;  they  do  be  coin- 
in'!'  '  cried  Murphy,  springing  briskly  to  his  feet. 

I  looked  ahead  into  the  darkening  woods ;  the  Caugh- 
nawaga  men  were  falling  back,  taking  station  behind 
trees;  Mount  stepped  to  the  shelter  of  a  big  oak;  Eler- 
son leaped  to  cover  under  a  pine;  a  Caughnawaga 
bateaux -man  darted  past  me,  stationing  himself  on 
my  right  behind  the  trunk  of  a  dapple  beech.  Sud- 
denly an  Indian  showed  himself  close  in  front;  the 
Caughnawaga  man  fired  and  missed;  and,  quicker 

275 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

than  I  can  write  it,  the  savage  was  on  him  before 
he  could  reload  and  had  brained  him  with  a  single 
castete-stroke.  I  fired,  but  the  Mohawk  was  too  qi 
for  me,  and  a  moment  later  he  bounded  back  into  the 
brush  while  the  forest  rang  with  his  triumphant  scalp- 
yell. 

"That's  what  they're  doing  in  front!"  shouted  Eler- 
son.  When  a  soldier  fires  they're  on  him  before  he 
can  reload!" 

"  Two  men  to  a  tree!"  roared  Jack  Mount.  "  Double 
up  there,  you  Caughnawaga  men!" 

Elerson  glided  cautiously  to  the  oak  which  sheltered 
Mount ;  Murphy  crept  forward  to  my  tree. 

"  Bedad !"  he  muttered, "  let  the  ondacent  dm  Is  dhraw 
ye're  fire  an'  welcome.  I've  a  pill  to  purge  'em  now. 
Lukatthat,sorr!  Shteady!  Shteady  an 'cool  does  it !' 

A  savage,  with  his  face  painted  half  white  and  half 
red,  stepped  out  from  the  thicket  and  dropped  just  as 
I  fired.     The  next  instant  he  came  leaping  straight 
our  tree,  castete  poised. 

Mui ;  (1.     The  effect  of  the  shot  was  amazing ; 

the  savage  stopped  short  in  mid-career  as  though  he 
had  con  ion  with  a  stone  wall ;  then  Elerson 

fired,  knock  fiat,  head  doubled  under  his  naked 

shoulders,  feet  trailing  across  a  rotting  log. 

"Save  ye're  powther,  Dave!"  sang  out  Murphy. 
"Sure  he  was  clean  kilt  as  he  shtood  there.  Lave  a 
dead  man  take  his  own  time  to  fall!" 

I  had  reloaded,  and  Murphy  was  coollv  priming, 
when  on  our  right  the  rifles  began  speaking  faster 
and  faster,  and  I  heard  the  sound  of  men  running  hard 
over  the  dry  leaves,  and  the-  thudding  gallop  of  horses. 

"A  charge!"  said  Murphy.  "There  do  be  horses 
comin',  too.  Have  they  dhragoons?— I  dunnoa.  Ha! 
There  they  go!  Tis  M  outlaws  or  I'm  a 

Dootchman!" 

276 


ORISKANY 

A  shrill  cock-crow  rang  out  in  the  forest 

"  Tis  the  chanticleer  scalp-yell  of  that  damned  loon, 
Francy  McCrawI"  he  cried,  fiercely.  "Give  it  to  'em, 
b'ys!  Shoot  hell  into  the  dommed  Tories  1" 

The  Caughnawaga  rifles  rang  out  from  every  tree; 
a  white  man  came  running  through  the  wood,  and  I 
instinctively  held  my  fire. 

"Shoot  the  dhirrty  son  of  a  shlut!"  yelled  Murphy; 
and  Elerson  shot  him  and  knocked  him  down,  but  the 
man  staggered  to  his  feet  again,  clutching  at  his  wound- 
ed throat,  and  reeled  towards  us.  He  fell  again,  got  on 
his  knees,  crawled  across  the  dead  leaves  until  he  was 
scarce  fifteen  yards  away,  then  fell  over  and  lay  there, 
coughing. 

"  A  dead  wan,"  said  Murphy,  calmly;  "lave  him. " 

McCraw's  onset  passed  along  our  extreme  left;  the 
volleys  grew  furious;  the  ghastly  cock-crow  rang  out 
shrill  and  piercing,  and  we  fired  at  long  range  where 
the  horses  were  passing  through  the  rifle-smoke. 

Then,  in  the  roar  of  the  fusillade,  a  bright  flash 
lighted  up  the  forest;  a  thundering  crash  followed, 
and  the  storm  burst,  dclu^iiiLC  the  woods  with  rain. 
Trees  rocked  and  groaned,  dashing  their  tops  together  ; 
the  wind  rose  to  a  hurricane;  the  rain  poured  down, 
beating  the  leaves  from  the  bees,  driving  friend  and 
foe  to  shelter:  The  reports  of  the  rifles  ceased;  the 
war-yelp  died  away.  Peal  on  peal  of  thunder  shook 
the  earth ;  the  roar  of  the  tempest  rose  to  a  steady  shriek 
through  which  the  terrific  smashing  of  falling  trees 
echoed  above  the  clash  of  branches. 

Soaked,  stunned,  blinded  by  the  awful  glare  of  the 
lightning,  I  crouched  under  the  great  oak,  which  rocked 
and  groaned,  convulsed  to  its  bedded  roots,  so  that  the 
ground  heaved  under  me  as  I  lay. 

I  could  not  see  ten  feet  ahead  of  me,  so  thick  was  the 
gloom  with  rain  and  flying  leaves  and  twigs.  The 

277 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

thunder  culminated  in  a  series  of  fearful  crashes ;  bolt 
after  bolt  fell,  illuminating  the  flying  chaos  of  the 
pest;  i hen  came  a  stunning  silence,  slowly  filial 
with  the  steady  roar  of  the  rain 

A  gray  pallor  grew  in  the  wtxxis.  I  looked  down 
into  the  ravine  and  saw  a  muddy  lake  there  full  of 
dead  men  and  horses. 

The  wounded  Tory  near  us  was  still  choking  and 
coughing,  dying  hard  out  there  in  the  rain.  Mount 
and  Elerson  crept  over  to  where  we  lay,  and,  after  a 
moment's  conference,  Murphy  led  us  in  a  loin 
swinging  gradually  northward  until  we  stumbled  into 
the  drenched  Palatine  regiment,  \vlneh  was  still  holding 
its  ground.  There  was  no  firing  on  either  side;  the 
guns  were  too  \\ 

On  a  wooded  knoll  to  the  left  a  group  of  dri] 
men  had  gathered.    Somebody  said  that  the  old  Gen- 
eral lay  there,  smoking  and  directing  the  defence,  his 
Kit  leg  shattered  by  a  ball.     I  saw  the  blue  smoke  of 
his  pipe  curling  up  under  the  tree,  but  I  did  not  see  him 

The  wind  had  died  out;  the  tin;  to  the 

thward,  muttering  among  the  hills;  rain  fell  less 
heavily;  and  I  saw  wounded  men  tear  \ts  from 

r  soaking  shirts  to  hind  their  hurts.     Details  from 
the  Canajohane  regiment  passed  us  searching  the  u fi- 
nish f'»r  their  dead. 

I  also  noticed  with  a  shudder  that  Elerson  and 
Murphy  carried  two  fresh  scalps  apiece,  tied  to  the  belts 
of  their  hunting -shirts;  but  I  said  nothing,  ha\ 
been  warned  by  Jack  Mount  that  they  considered  it 
their  prerogative  to  take  the  scalps  of  those  who  had 
failed  to  take  theirs. 

How  they  could  do  it  I  cannot  understand,  for  I  had 
once  seen  the  body  of  a  scalped  man,  with  the  skin, 
released  from  the  muscles  of  the  forehead,  hanging  all 
loose  and  wrinkled  over  the  face. 

278 


ORISKANY 

With  the  ceasing  of  the  rain  came  the  renewed  crack 
of  the  rifles  and  the  whiz  of  bullets.  We  took  post  on 
the  extreme  left,  firing  deliberately  at  McCraw's  rene- 
gades ;  and  I  do  not  know  whether  I  hit  any  or  not, 
but  five  men  did  I  see  fall  under  the  murderous  aim  of 
Murphy ;  and  I  know  that  Elerson  shot  two  savages, 
for  he  went  down  into  the  ravine  after  them  and  re- 
turned with  the  wet,  red  trophies. 

The  sun  was  now  shining  again  with  a  heat  so  fierce 
and  intense  that  the  earth  smoked  vapor  all  around 
us.  It  was  at  this  time  that  I,  personally,  experienced 
the  only  close  fighting  of  the  day,  which  brought 
a  sudden  end  to  this  most  amazing  and  bloody  skir- 
mish. 

I  had  been  lying  full  length  behind  a  bush  in  the  lines 
of  the  Palatine  regiment,  eating  a  crust  of  bread ;  for 
that  strange  battle-hunger  had  been  gnawing  at  my 
vitals  for  an  hour.  Some  of  'the  men  were  eating, 
some  firing;  the  steaming  heat  almost  suffocated  me 
as  I  lay  there,  yet  I  munched  on,  ravenous  as  a  De- 
cember wolf. 

I  heard  somebody  shout:  "Here  they  cornel"  and, 
filling  my  mouth  with  bread,  I  rose  to  my  knees  to  see. 

A  body  of  troops  in  green  uniforms  came  marching 
steadily  towards  us,  led  by  a  red-coated  officer  on  horse- 
back; and  all  around  me  the  Palatines  were  springing 
to  their  feet,  uttering  cries  of  rage,  cursing  the  oncom- 
ing troops,  and  calling  out  to  them  by  name. 

For  the  detachment  of  Royal  Greens  which  now  ad- 
vanced to  the  assault  was,  it  appeared,  composed  of  old 
acquaintances  and  neighbors  of  the  Palatines,  who  had 
fled  to  join  the  Tories  and  Indians  and  now  returned 
to  devastate  their  own  county. 

Lashed  to  ungovernable  fury  by  the  sight  of  these 
hated  renegades,  the  entire  regiment  leaped  forward 
with  a  roar  and  rushed  on  the  advancing  detachment, 

279 


THE   MAID-AT-ARMS 

sutbbine,  shooting,  clubbing,  throttling      Mutual  1 
tied  made  the  contest  tern  -id  words;  no  quar- 

was   given   on   either  side.     I  saw  men  stran 
each  other  with  naked  hands  ;  kiek  e;uh  other  to  death, 
like  dogs,  tooth  and  nail,  rolling  over  the  \s  et 

The  tide  had  not  yet  struck  us;  we  fired  at  their 
mounted  officer,  whom  Elerson  declared  he  recognized 
as  Major  Watts,  brother-in-law  to  Sir  John  Johnson; 
and  presently,as  usual,  Murphy  hit  him.  so  that  the 
young  fellow  dropped  forward  on  his  saddle  and  his 
se  ran  away,  flinging  him  against  a  tree  with  a 
crash,  doubtless  breaking  every  bone  in  his  body. 

Then,  above  the  tumult,  out  of  the  north  came  boom- 
mi:  three  cannon-shots,  the  signal  from  the  fort  that 
Herkimer  had  desired  to  wait 

A  detachment  from  the  Canajoharie  regiment  surged 
out  of  the  woods  with  a  ringing  cheer,  poin  th- 

ward,  where,  across  a  cfaaring,  a  body  \\s  were 

rapidly  advancing  from  the  direction  of  the  fort. 

ie   sortie!    The  sortie!"   shouted    the   soldiers, 
frantic  with  joy.     Murphy  and  I  ran  towards  thi 
Elerson  yelled:  "Be  careful!    Look  at  their  uniforms! 
Don't  go  too  close  to  them  I" 

"They're  coining  from  the  north!"  bawled  Mount 
"  They're  our  own  people,  Dave!    Come  on 

Captain  Jacob  Gardinu  .  v.  ith  a  dozen  Caughnawaga 
men,  had  already  reached  the  advancing  troops,  when 
Murphy  seized  my  arm  and  halted  me,  crying  out, 
"  Those  men  are  wearing  their  coats  turned  inside  out! 
They're  Johnson's  Greens!" 

At  the  same  instant  I  recognized  Colonel  John  Butler 
as  the  officer  leading  them ;  and  he  knew  me  and,  with- 
out a  word,  fired  his  pistol  at  me.  We  were  so  near 
them  now  that  a  Tory  caught  hold  of  Murphy  and  tried 
to  stab  him,  but  the  big  Irishman  kicked  him  head- 

2*0 


ORISKANY 

loug  and  rushed  into  the  mob,  swinging  his  long 
hatchet,  followed  by  Gardinier  and  his  Caughnawaga 
men,  whom  the  treachery  had  transformed  into  demons. 

In  an  instant  all  around  me  men  were  swaying, 
striking,  shooting,  panting,  locked  in  a  deadly  em- 
brace. A  sweating,  red-faced  soldier  closed  with  me ; 
chin  to  chin,  breast  to  breast  we  wrestled ;  and  I  shall 
never  forget  the  stifling  struggle  —  every  detail  re- 
mains, his  sunburned  face,  wet  with  sweat  and  powder- 
smeared  ;  his  irregular  teeth  showing  when  I  got  him 
by  the  throat,  and  the  awful  change  that  came  over 
his  visage  when  Jack  Mount  shoved  the  muzzle  of  his 
rifle  against  the  struggling  fellow  and  shot  him  through 
the  stomach. 

Freed  from  his  death-grip,  I  stood  breathing  convul- 
sively, hands  clinched,  one  foot  on  my  fallen  rifle.  An 
Indian  ran  past  me,  chased  by  Elerson  and  Murphy, 
but  the  savage  dodged  into  the  underbrush,  shrieking, 
"Oonah!  Oonah!  Oonah  1"  and  Elerson  came  back, 
waving  his  deer-hide  cap. 

Everywhere  Tories,  Royal  Greens,  and  Indians  were 
running  into  the  woods;  the  wailing  cry,  "Oonah! 
Oonah!"  rose  on  all  sides  now.  Gardinier 's  Caughna- 
waga  men  were  shooting  rapidly ;  the  Palatines,  mas- 
ter of  their  reeking  brush-field,  poured  a  heavy  fire  into 
the  detachment  of  retreating  Greens,  who  finally  broke 
and  ran,  dropping  sack  and  rifle  in  their  flight,  and 
leaving  thirty  of  their  dead  under  the  feet  of  the  Pala- 
tines. 

The  soldiers  of  the  Canajoharie  regiment  came  up, 
swarming  over  a  wooded  knoll  on  the  right,  only  to 
halt  and  stand,  silently  leaning  on  their  rifles. 

For  the  battle  of  Oriskany  was  over. 

There  was  no  cheering  from  the  men  of  Tryon  Coun- 
ty. Their  victory  had  been  too  dearly  bought;  their 
losses  too  terrible;  their  triumph  sterile,  for  they  could 

281 


THE   MAID-AT-ARMS 

not  now  advance  the  crippled  fragments  of  their  regfc 
ments  and  raise  the  siege  in  the  face  of  St  Leger's 
and  Walter  Butler's  Rangers. 

Their  combat  with  Johnson's  Greens  and  Brant  5 
Mohawks  had  been  fought;  and,  though  masters  of  the 
field,  they  could  do  no  more  than  hold  their  ground. 
Perhaps  the  bitter  knowledge  that  they  must  leave 
Stanwix  to  its  fate,  and  that,  too,  through  then  «>wn 
disobedience,  made  the  better  soldiers  <»f  them  in  tune. 
Hut  it  was  a  hard  and  dreadful  lesson;  and  I  saw  n 

mg,  faces  hidden  in  their  powder-blackened  hands, 
as  the  dying  General  was  borne  through  the  ranks,  ly- 
ing gray  and  motionless  on  his  hemlock  In 

And  this  is  all  that  I  myself  witnessed  of  tha 
ful  ambuscade  and  murderous  combat,  fought  some 
two  miles  north  of  the  dirty  camp,  and  now  known  as 
the  Battle  of  Oriskany. 

That  night  we  buried  our  dead;  one  hundred  on  the 
1  where  they  had  fallen,  two  hundred  and  fifty  in 
the  burial  trenches  at  Oriskany-  live  wagon- 

loads  in  all.  Scarcely  an  officer  of  rank  remained  to 
lead  the  funeral  march  when  the  muffled  drums  of  the 
Palatines  rolled  at  midnight,  and  the  smoky  torches 
moved,  and  the  dead-wagons  rumbled  on  through  the 
suffocating  darkness  of  a  starless  night  We  had  1 

mded ;  we  took  no  prisoners ;  Oriskany  mfeant  death. 
We  counted  only  thirty  men  disabled  and  some  score 
Tnissing. 

"God  grant  the  missing  be  safely  dead/1  prayed  our 
camp  chaplain  at  the  burial  trench.  We  knew  what 
that  meant;  worse  than  dead  were  the  wretched  n 
who  had  fallen  alive  im«»  the  hands  of  old  John  ButK-r 
and  his  son,  Walter,  and  that  vicious  drunkard,  Barry 
St  Leger,  who  had  offered,  over  his  own  signature, 
two  hundred  and  forty  dollars  a  dozen  for  prime  Tryon 
County  scalps. 

282 


ORISKANY 

I  slept  little  that  night,  partly  from  the  excitement 
of  my  first  serious  combat,  partly  because  of  the  terrible 
heat.  Our  outposts,  now  painfully  overzealous  and 
alert,  fired  off  their  muskets  at  every  fancied  sound  or 
movement,  and  these  continual  alarms  kept  me  awake, 
though  Mount  and  Murphy  slept  peacefully,  and  Eler- 
son  yawned  on  guard. 

Towards  sunrise  rain  fell  heavily,  but  brought  no 
relief  from  the  heat;  the  sun,  a  cherry-red  ball,  hung 
a  hand's-breadth  over  the  forests  when  the  curtain  of 
rain  faded  away.  The  riflemen,  curled  up  in  the  hay 
on  the  barn  floor,  snored  on,  unconscious;  the  batt- 
horses  crunched  and  munched  in  the  manger;  flies 
whirled  and  swarmed  over  a  wheelbarrow  piled  full  of 
dead  soldier's  shoes,  which  must  to-day  be  distributed 
among  the  living. 

All  the  loathsome  and  filthy  side  of  war  seemed  con- 
centrated around  the  barn -yard,  where  sleepy,  un- 
shaven, half-dressed  soldiers  were  burning  the  under- 
clothes of  a  man  who  had  died  of  the  black  measles; 
while  a  great,  brawny  fellow,  naked  to  the  waist  and 
smeared  from  hair  to  ankles  with  blood,  butchered 
sheep,  so  that  the  army  might  eat  that  day. 

The  thick  stench  of  the  burning  clothing,  the  odor 
of  blood,  the  piteous  bleating  of  the  doomed  creatures 
sickened  me ;  and  I  made  my  way  out  of  the  barn  and 
down  to  the  river,  where  I  stripped  and  waded  out  to 
wash  me  and  my  clothes. 

A  Caughnawaga  soldier  gave  me  a  bit  of  soap ;  and 
I  spent  the  morning  there.  By  noon  the  fierce  heat  of 
the  sun  had  dried  my  clothes;  by  two  o'clock  our  small 
scout  of  four  left  the  Stanwix  and  Johnstown  road  and 
struck  out  through  the  unbroken  wilderness  for  Ger- 
man Flatts. 


XIX 

THE  HOME  TRAIL 

FOR  eleven  days  we  lay  at  German  Flatts,  Colo- 
nel Yisscher  begging  us  to  aid  in  the  del 
that  threatened  village  until  the  women  and  children 
Id  be  conveyed  to  Johnstown.     But  Sir  John  John- 
son remained  before  Stanwix,  and  McCraw's   riders 
gave  the  village  wide  berth,  and  on  the  i8th  of  August 
we  set  out  for  Varicks'. 

Warned  by  our  extreme  outposts,  we  bore  to  ilu* 
south,  forced  miles  out  of  our  course  to  avoid  the 
Oneida  country,  where  a  terrific  little  war  was  raging. 
For  the  Senecas,  Cayugas,  a  few  Mohawks,  and  Mc- 
Craw's renegade  Tories,  furious  at  the  neutral  and 
pac  of  the  Oneidas  towards  our  people,  had 

suddenly  fallen  upon  them,  tooth  and  nail,  vowing  that 
the  Oneida  nation  should  perish  from  the  er^rth  for  thru 
treason  to  the  Long  House. 

We  skirted  the  doomed  region  cautiously,  touching 
here  and  there  the  fringe  of  massacre  and  fire,  ofim 
scenting  smoke,  sometimes  hearing  a  di  hot 

Once  we  encountered  an  Oneida  runner,  painted  blue 
and  white,  and  naked  save  for  the  loin-cloth,  \vh«.  i..ld 
us  of  the  civil  war  that  was  already  rending  the  Long 
House;  and  I  then  understood  more  fully  what  Magda- 
len Brant  had  done  for  our  cause,  and  how  far-reaching 
had  been  the  effects  of  her  appearance  at  the  False- 
Faces'  council-! 

The  Oneida  appeared  to  be  disheartened     He  sul« 


THE    HOME    TRAIL 

icnly  admitted  to  us  that  the  Cayugas  had  scattered 
his  people  and  laid  their  village  in  ashes;  he  cursed 
McCraw  fiercely  and  promised  a  dreadful  retaliation 
on  any  renegade  captured.  He  also  described  the  fate 
of  the  Oriskany  prisoners  and  some  bateaux-men  taken 
by  Walter  Butler's  Rangers  near  Wood  Creek;  and  I 
could  scarcely  endure  to  listen,  so  horrid  were  the  de- 
tails of  our  soldiers'  common  fate,  where  Mohawk  and 
Tor3r,  stripped  and  painted  alike,  conspired  to  invent 
atrocities  undreamed  of  for  their  wretched  victims. 

It  was  then  that  I  heard  for  the  second  time  the  term 
"Blue -eyed  Indian/'  meaning  white  men  stained, 
painted,  and  disguised  as  savages.  More  terrifying 
than  the  savages  themselves,  it  appeared,  were  the 
blue-eyed  Indians  to  the  miserable  settlers  of  Tryon. 
For  hellish  ingenuity  and  devilish  cruelty  these  mock 
savages,  the  Oneida  assured  us,  had  nothing  to  learn 
from  their  red  comrades;  and  I  shall  never  be  able  to 
efface  from  my  mind  the  memory  of  what  we  saw,  that 
very  day,  in  a  lonely  farm-house  on  the  flats  of  the 
Mohawk;  nor  was  it  necessary  that  McCraw  should 
have  left  his  mark  on  the  shattered  door — a  cock  crow- 
ing, drawn  in  outline  by  a  man's  forefinger  steeped  in 
blood — to  enlighten  those  who  might  not  recognize  the 
ghastly  work  as  his. 

We  stayed  there  for  three  hours  to  bury  the  dead, 
an  old  man  and  woman,  a  young  mother,  and  five 
children,  the  youngest  an  infant  not  a  year  old.  All 
had  been  scalped;  even  the  watch-dog  lay  dead  near 
the  bloody  cradle.  We  dug  the  shallow  graves  with 
difficulty,  having  nothing  to  work  with  save  our  hunt- 
ing-knives and  some  broken  dishes  which  we  found 
in  the  house;  and  it  was  close  to  noon  before  we  left 
the  lonely  flat  and  pushed  forward  through  miles  of 
stunted  willow  growth  towards  the  river  road  which 
led  to  Johnstown. 

285 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

I  shall  never  forget  Mount's  set  face  nor  Murphy's 
terrible,  vacant  stare  as  we  plodded  on  in  absolute 
silmce.  Elerson  led  us  on  a  steady  trot  hour  after 
hour,  till,  late  in  the  afternoon,  we  crossed  the  n\er 
road  and  wheeled  into  it  exhausted. 

The  west  was  all  aglow ;  cleared  land  and  fences  lay 
along  the  roadside;  here  and  there  houses  loomed  up 
in  the  red,  evening  light,  but  their  inhabitants  were 
gone,  and  not  a  sign  of  life  remained  about  them  i 

the  circling  swallows  whirling  in  and  out  of  the 
blackened  chimneys. 

So  still,  so  sad  this  solitude  that  the  sudden  chirjv- 
of  a  robin  in  the  evening  shadows  startled  us. 

The  sun  sank  behind  the  forest,  tui  er  to 

a  bloody  red;  a  fox  yapped  and  yapped  from  a  d 
hill-side;  the  moon's  yellow  light  flashed  out  through 
the  trees;  and,  with  the  coming  of  the  moon,  far  in  the 
wilderness  the  owls  began  and  the  cries  of  the  night* 
hawks  died  away  in  the  si. 

The  first  human  being  that  we  encountered  was  a 
miller  riding  an  ancient  horse  towards  a  lane  u 
bordered  a  noisy  brook. 

When  he  discovered  us  he  whipped  out  a  pistol  and 
bade  us  stand  where  we  were;  and  it  took  all  my  jx?r- 
suasion  to  convince  him  that  we  were  not  renegades 
a  McCraw's  band. 

We  asked  for  news,  but  he  had  none,  save  that  a 
heavy  force  of  our  soldiers  was  lying  by  the  road 
some  two  miles  below  on  their  way  to  relieve  J 
Stanwix.      The  General,  he  believed,  was  named  Ar- 
nold, and  the  troops  were  Massachusetts  men;   ili.it 
was  all  he  knew 

He  seemed  stupid  or  perhaps  stunned,  having  lost 
three  sons  in  a  battle  somewhere  near  Benn 
and  had  that  morning  received  word  of  his  loss,     i 
the  battle  had  gone  he  did  not  know;  he  was  on  his 

286 


THE    HOME    TRAIL 

way  up  the  creek  to  lock  his  mill  before  joining  the 
militia  at  Johnstown.  He  was  not  too  old  to  carry 
the  musket  he  had  carried  at  Braddock's  battle.  Be- 
sides, his  boys  were  dead,  and  there  was  no  one  in  his 
family  except  himself  to  help  our  Congress  fight  the 
red-coats. 

We  watched  him  ride  off  into  the  darkness,  gray 
head  erect,  pistol  shining  in  his  hand;  then  moved  on, 
searching  the  distance  for  the  outpost  we  knew  must 
presently  hail  us.  And,  sure  enough,  from  the  shadow 
of  a  clump  of  trees  came  the  smart  challenge:  "Halt! 
Who  goes  there?" 

"  Officer  from  Herkimer  and  scout  of  three  with  news 
for  General  Schuyler!"  I  answered. 

"Halt,  officer  with  scout!  Sergeant  of  the  guard! 
Post  number  three!" 

Dark  figures  swarmed  in  the  road  ahead;  a  squad 
of  men  came  up  on  the  double. 

"Advance  officer!"  rang  out  the  summons;  a  torch 
blazed,  throwing  a  red  glare  around  us;  a  red-faced 
old  officer  in  brown  and  scarlet  walked  up  and  took 
the  packet  of  papers  which  I  extended. 

"Are  you  Captain  Ormond?"  he  asked,  curiously, 
glancing  at  the  endorsement  on  my  papers. 

I  replied  that  I  was,  and  named  Murphy,  Elerson, 
and  Mount  as  my  scout 

When  the  soldiers  standing  about  heard  the  notorious 
names  of  men  already  famed  in  ballad  and  story,  they 
craned  their  necks  to  see,  as  my  tired  riflemen  filed  into 
the  lines;  and  the  staff-officer  made  himself  exceed- 
ingly agreeable  and  civil,  conducting  us  to  a  shelter 
made  of  balsam  branches,  before  which  a  smudge  was 
burning. 

"General  Arnold  has  despatches  for  you,  Captain 
Ormond,"  he  said;  "I  am  Drummond,  Brigade  Major; 
we  expected  you  at  Varick  Manor  on  the  ninth — 

287 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

you  wrote  to  your  cousin,  Miss  Yurick,  from  Oriskanv, 
you  know." 

A  soldier  came  up  with  two  headquarters  lair 
whu  h  he  hung  on  the  cross-bar  of  the  open-faced  hut ; 

t  her  soldier  brought  bread  and   cheese,  a  great 

le  pie,  a  jug  of  spring  water,  and  a  bottle  of  brandy, 
•li   the  compliments  of  Brigadier-General   Arnold, 
and  apolpgies  that  neither  cloth,  glasses,  nor  cutlery 
included  in  the  camp  baggage. 

We're  light  infantry  with  a  vengeance,  Caj 
Onnond,"  said  Major  Drumraond,  laughing;  "we  left 
at  twenty-four  Hours'  notice!    Gad,  sir!  the  day  be- 
fore we  started  the  General  haidn't  a  squad  under  his 
orders;  but  when  Schuyler  called   for  \<»lunteers,  and 

brigadiers  began  to  raise  hell  at  the  idea  of  weak- 
ening the  army  to  help  Stamv  old  came  out  of 
his  -  on  the  jump!  'Who  11  follow  me  to 
Stanwix?'  he  bawls;  and,  by  gad,  sir,  the  Massa- 
chusetts men  fell  over  each  other  trying  to  sign  the 

IK  laughed  again,  waving  my  papers  in  the  air  and 
slapping  them  down  oq  a  knaps. 

"  You  will  doubtless  wish  to  hand  these  to  the  Gen- 
eral yourself,"  he  said,  pleasantly.  "Pray,  sir,  do 
not  think  of  standing  on  ceremony;  I  have  dined. 
Captain." 

Mount,  who  had  been  furtively  licking  his  lips  and 
casting  oblique  glances  at  the  bread  and  cheese,  fell 
to  at  a  nod  from  me.  Murphy  and  Elerson  joined 
him,  bolting  huge  mouthfuls.  I  ate  sparingly,  having 
little  appetite  left  after  the  -iuht>  I  had  seen  in  that 
lonely  house  on  the  Mohawk  flats. 

The  gnats  ^warmed,  but  the  smoke  of  the  green- 
moss  smudge  kept  them  from  us  in  a  measure.  I 
asked  Major  Drumniond  how  soon  it  might  be  con- 
venient for  General  Arnold  to  receive  me,  and  he  sent 

288 


THE    HOME    TRAIL 

a  young  ensign  to  headquarters,  who  presently  returned 
saying  that  General  Arnold  was  making  the  rounds 
and  would  waive  ceremony  and  stop  at  our  post  on  his 
return. 

"There's  a  soldier,  sir!"  said  Major  Drummond, 
emphasizing  his  words  with  a  smart  blow  of  his  riding- 
cane  on  his  polished  quarter-boots.  "  He's  had  us  on 
a  dog-trot  since  we  started;  up  hill,  dowfi  dple,  across 
th'e  cursed  Sacandaga  swamps,  through  fords  chin- 
hii^hl  By  gad,  sirl  allow  me  to  tell  you  that  nothing 
stopped  us!  We  went  through  windfalls  like  par- 
tridges ;  we  crossed  the  hills  like  a  herd  o'  deer  in 
flight!  We  ran  as  though  the  devil  were  snapping  at 
our  shanks  I  I'm  half  dead,  thank  you — and  my  shins ! 
— you  should  see  where  that  razor-boned  nag  of  mine 
shaved  bark  enough  off  the  trees  with  me  to  start  every 
tannery  between  the  Fish-House  and  Half-moon!" 

The  ruddy-faced  Major  roared  at  the  recital  of  his 
own  misfortunes.  Mount  and  Murphy  looked  up  with 
sympathetic  grins;  Elerson  had  fallen  asleep  against 
the  side  of  the  shack,  a  bit  of  pie,  half  gnawed,  clutched 
in  his  brier-torn  fist. 

I  had  a  pipe,  but  no  tobacco ;  the  Major  filled  my  pipe, 
purring  contentedly;  a  soldier,  at  a  sign  from  him, 
took  Mount  and  Murphy  to  the  nearest  fire,  where  there 
was  a  gill  of  grog  and  plenty  of  tobacco.  I  roused 
Elerson,  who  gaped,  bolted  his  pie  with  a  single  mighty 
effort,  and  stumbled  off  after  his  comrades.  Major 
Drummond  squatted  down  cross-legged  before  the 
smudge,  lighting  his  corn-cob  pipe  from  a  bit  of  glow- 
ing moss,  and  leaned  back  contentedly,  crossing  his 
arms  behind  his  head. 

"I'm  tired,  too,"  he  said;  "we  marc^again  at  mid- 
night. If  it's  no  secret,  I  should  like  to  know  what's 
going  on  ahead  there." 

"It's  no  secret,"  I  said,  soberly;  "the  Senecas  and 
'«  28g 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Ctyugas  are  harming  the  Oneidas;  the  renegades  are 
riding  the  forest,  murdering  women  and  infants.  St 
Leger  is  firing  bombs  at  Stanwix,  and  Yisscher  is 
holding  German  Flatts  with  some  Caughnawag* 
militia." 

"And  Herkimer?"  asked  Drummond,  gravely. 

"Dead,"  I  replied,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Good  gad,  sir!     I  had  not  heard  that!"  he  ex- 
ned. 

"It  is  true,  Major.  The  old  man  died  while  I  was 
at  German  Flatts.  They  say  the  amputation  of  his 
leg  was  a  wretched  piece  of  work.  ...lie  died  bolt  up- 
right in  his  bed,  smoking  his  pipe,  and  reading  aloud 
the  thirty-eighth  Psalm.  .  .  .  His  men  are  wild  with 
grief,  they  say.  .  .  .  They  called  him  a  coward  the  morn- 
ing of  Oriskany." 

After  a  silence  the  Major's  emotion  dimmed    his 
twinkling  eyes;  he  dragged  a  red  bandanna  hand 
lu  i  m  his  coat-tails  and  blew  his  nose  violently. 

"All  flesh  is  grass — eh,  Captain?  And  some  of  it 
devilish  poor  grass  at  that,  eh?  Well,  well;  we  can't 
make  an  array  in  a  day.  But,  by  gad,  sir,  we've  done 
uncommonly  well.  You've  heard  of  —  but  no,  you 
haven't,  either.  Here's  news  for  you,  friend,  since 
you've  been  in  the  woods.  On  the  hile  you  ft  1- 

lows  were  shooting  down  some  three  hundred  and  fifty 
of  the  Mohawks,  Royal  Greens,  and  renegades,  that 
old  wolverine,  Marinus  Willctt,  slipped  out  of  the 

:,  fell  on  Sir  John's  camp,  and  took  twmtv-one 
wagon-loads  of  provisions,  blankets,  ammunition,  and 
tools;  also  five  British  standards  and  every  bit  of 
personal  baggage  belonging  to  Sir  John  Johnson,  in- 
cluding his  private  papers,  maps,  memoranda,  and 
all  orders  and  instructions  for  the  completed  plans  of 
campaign.  .  .  .  Wait,  if  you  please,  sir.  That  is  not 
all. 

290 


THE    HOME    TRAIL 

"On  the  sixteenth,  old  John  Stark  fell  upon  Baum's 
and  Brey man's  Hessians  at  Bennington,  killed  and 
wounded  over  two  hundred,  captured  seven  hundred; 
took  a  thousand  stand  of  arms,  a  thousand  fine  dra- 
goon sabres,  and  four  excellent  field-cannon  with  lim- 
bers, harness,  and  caissons.  .  .  .  And  lost  fourteen 
killed  I" 

Speechless  at  the  good  news,  I  could  only  lean  across 
the  smudge  and  shake  hands  with  him  while  he 
chuckled  and  slapped  his  knee,  growing  ruddier  in 
the  face  every  moment. 

"Where  are  the  red-coats  now?"  he  cried.  "Look 
at  'em!  Burgo/ne,  scared  witless,  badgered,  dogged 
from  pillar  to  post,  his  army  on  the  defensive  from 
Still  water  down  to  Half-moon;  St.  Leger  destitute  of 
his  camp  baggage,  caught  in  his  own  wolf-pit,  flinging 
a  dozen  harmless  bombs  at  Stanwix,  and  frightened 
half  to  death  at  every  rumor  from  Albany;  McDonald 
chased  out  of  the  county;  Mann  captured,  and  Sir 
Henry  Clinton  dawdling  in  New  York  and  bothering 
his  head  over  Washington  while  Burgoyne,  in  a  devil 
of  a  plight,  sits  yonder  yelling  for  help  I 

"  Where's  the  great  invasion,  Ormond?  Where's  the 
grand  advance  on  the  centre?  Where's  the  gigantic 
triple  blow  at  the  heart  of  this  scurvy  rebellion?  I 
don't  know;  do  you?" 

I  shook  my  head,  smilingly;  he  beamed  upon  me; 
we  had  a  swallow  of  brandy  together,  and  I  lay  back, 
deathly  tired,  to  wait  for  Arnold  and  my  despatches. 

"That's  right,"  commented  the  genial  Major,  "go 
to  sleep  while  you  can;  the  General  won't  take  it  amiss 
— eh?  What?  Oh,  don't  mind  me,  my  son.  Old  cod- 
gers like  me  can  get  along  without  such  luxuries  as 
sleep.  It's  the  young  lads  who  require  sleep.  Eh? 
Yes,  sir;  I'm  serious.  Wait  till  you  see  sixty  year! 
Then  you'll  understand.  ...  So  I'll  just  sit  here,  .  .  . 

2QI 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

and  smoke, .  .  .  and  talk  away  in  a  buzz-song, .  . .  and 
that  will  fix— " 

I  looked  up  with  a  start ;  the  Major  had  disappeared. 
In  my  eyes  a  lantern  was  .shining  steadily.  Tlu-n  a 
shadow  moved,  and  I  turned  and  stumbled  to  my  feet, 
as  a  cloaked  figure  stepped  into  the  shelter  and  stood 
before  me,  peering  into  my  eyes. 

"I'm  Arnold;  how  d'ye  do,"  came  a  quick, 
voice  from  the  depths  of  the  military  cloak.     "I've  a 
moment  to  stay  here;  we  march  in  ten  minutes.     Is 
cimer  dead?" 

I  described  his  death  in  a  few  words. 

"  Bad,  bad  as  hell ! "  he  muttered,  fingering  his  sword- 

hilt  and  staring  off  into  the  darkness      "  What's  tin 

situation  above  us?    Gansevoort's  holding  out,  isn't 

I  sent  him  a  note  to-night    Of  course  he's  hold- 

I  made  a  short  report  of  the  situation  as  I  knew  it ; 
the  General  looked  straight  into  my  eyes  as  though 
he  were  tening. 

s,  yes,"  he  said,  impatiently.  "I  know  how 
to  deal  with  St  Leger  and  Sir  John — I  wrote  Ganse- 
voort  that  I  understood  how  to  deal  with  them.  He 
has  only  to  sit  tight ;  I  11  manage  the  rest" 

His  dark,  lean,  eager  visage  caught  the  la: 
light  as  he  turned  to  scan  the  moonlit  Ten 

minutes,"  he  muttered;  "we  should  strike  German 
Platts  by  sundown  to-morrow  if  our  supplies  come 
up."  And,  aloud,  with  an  abrupt  and  vigorous  gest- 
ure, "McCraw's  band  are  scalping  the  settlers,  they 
say?" 

I  told  him  what  I  had  seen.  He  nodded,  then  his 
virile  face  changed  and  he  gave  me  a  sulky  1<> 

"Captain  Ormond/  Mk  say  that  I  brood 

over  the  wrongs  done  me  by  Congress.     It's  a  IK 

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THE   HOME    TRAIL 

don't  care  a  damn  about  Congress — but  let  it  pass. 
What  I  wish  to  say  is  this :  On  the  second  of  August 
the  best  general  in  these  United  States  except  George 
Washington  was  deprived  of  his  command  and  su- 
perseded by  a — a — thing  named  Gates.  ...  I  speak 
of  General  Philip  Schuyler,  my  friend,  and  now  my 
fellow-victim." 

Shocked  and  angry  at  the  news  of  such  injustice 
to  the  man  whose  splendid  energy  had  already  para- 
lyzed the  British  invasion  of  New  York,  I  stiffened 
up,  rigid  and  speechless. 

"Hoi"  cried  Arnold,  with  a  disagreeable  laugh. 
"It  mads  you,  does  it?  Well,  sir,  think  of  me  who 
have  lived  to  see  five  men  promoted  over  my  head — and 
I  left  in  the  anterooms  of  Congress  to  eat  my  heart 
out!  But  let  that  pass,  too.  By  the  eternal  God,  I'll 
show  them  what  stuff  is  in  me!  Let  it  pass,  Ormond, 
let  it  pass." 

He  began  to  pace  the  ground,  gnawing  his  thick 
lower  lip,  and  if  ever  the  infernal  fire  darted  from  hu- 
man eyes,  I  saw  its  baleful  flicker  then. 

With  a  heave  of  his  chest  and  a  scowl,  he  controlled 
his  voice,  stopping  in  his  nervous  walk  to  face  me  again. 

"Ormond,  you've  gone  up  higher — the  commission 
is  here."  He  pulled  a  packet  of  papers  from  his  breast- 
pocket and  thrust  them  at  me.  "  Schuyler  did  it.  He 
thinks  well  of  you,  sir.  On  the  first  of  August  he 
learned  that  he  was  to  be  superseded.  He  told  Clinton 
that  you  deserved  a  commission  for  what  you  did  at 
that  Iroquois  council-fire.  Here  it  is;  you're  to  raise 
a  regiment  of  rangers  for  local  defence  of  the  Mohawk 
district.  ...  I  congratulate  you,  Colonel  Ormond." 

He  offered  his  bony,  nervous  hand;  I  clasped  it, 
dazed  and  speechless. 

"Remember  me/'  he  said,  eagerly.  "Let  me  count 
on  your  voice  at  the  next  council  of  war.  You  will 

293 


THE    MA1D-AT-ARMS 

not  regret  it,  Colonel.  Even  if  you  go  higher — even 
if  you  rise  over  my  luckless  head,  you  will  not  n 
the  friendship  of  Benedict  Arnold.  For,  by  Heaven, 
sir,  I  have  it  in  me  to  lead  men;  and  they  shall  not  keep 
me  down,  and  they  shall  not  fetter  me — no,  not  c\vn 
this  beribboned  lap-dog  Gates!  .  .  .  Stand  my  friend, 
Ormond.  I  need  every  friend  I  have.  And  I  promise 
you  the  world  shall  hear  of  me  one  day!" 

I  shall  never  forget  his  worn  and  shadowy  face,  the 
long  nose,  the  strong,  selfish  chin,  the  devouring  Same 
burning  his  soul  out  through  his  eyes. 

"Luck  be  with  you!"  he  said,  abruptly,  extending 
his  hand.  Once  more  that  bony,  fervid  clasp,  and  he 
was  gone. 

A  moment  later  the  ground  vibrated ;  a  dark,  massed 
*  "lumn  of  troops  appeared  in  the  moonlight,  inarching 
swiftly  without  drum-tap  or  spoken  command  ;  the  dim 
us  of  mounted  officers  rode  past  like  shadows  against 
tlu  stars;  vague  shapes  of  wagons  creaked  after,  roll- 
ing on  muffled  wheels;  more  troops  followed  quickly; 
then  the  shadowy  pageant  ended ;  and  there  was  noth- 
ing before  me  but  the  moon  in  the  sky  above  a  world 
of  ghostly  wilderness. 

One  camp  lantern  had  been  left  for  my  use;  by  its 
flickering  light  I  untied  the  documents  left  me  by  Ar- 
nold; and,  sorting  the  papers,  chose  first  my  orders, 
reading  the  formal  notice  of  my  tran  rn  Mor- 

gan's Rifles  to  the  militia;  then  the  order  detailing 
me  to  the  Mohawk  district,  with  headquarters  at  Var- 
Manor ;  and,  finally,  my  commission  on  parchment, 
signed  by  Governor  Clinton  and  by  Philip  Schuyler,  Ma- 
jor-General Commanding  the  Department  of  the  North. 

It  was,  perhaps,  the  last  official  act  as  chief  of  de- 
partment of  this  generous  man. 

The  next  letter  was  in  his  own  handwriting.  I  broke 
the  heavy  seal  and  read : 

294 


THE    HOME    TRAIL 

"  ALBANY, 

"  August  10,  1777. 
"  Colonel  George  Ormond : 

"  MY  DEAR  YOUNG  FRIEND,— As  you  have  perhaps  heard 
rumors  that  General  Gates  has  superseded  me  in  command  of  the 
army  now  operating  against  General  Burgoyne,  I  desire  to  con- 
firm these  rumors  for  your  benefit. 

"  My  orders  I  now  take  from  General  Gates,  without  the  slight- 
est rancor,  I  assure  you,  or  the  least  unworthy  sentiment  of  envy 
or  chagrin.  Congress,  in  its  wisdom,  has  ordered  it ;  and  I  count 
him  unspeakably  base  who  shall  serve  his  country  the  less  ar- 
dently because  of  a  petty  and  personal  disappointment  in  ambi- 
tions unfulfilled. 

"  I  remain  loyal  in  heart  and  deed  to  my  country  and  to  Gen- 
eral Gates,  who  may  command  my  poor  talents  in  any  manner 
he  sees  fitting. 

"  I  say  this  to  you  because  I  am  an  older  man,  and  I  know 
something  of  younger  men,  and  I  have  liked  you  from  the  first. 
I  say  it  particularly  because,  now  that  you  also  owe  duty  and 
instant  obedience  to  General  Gates,  I  do  not  wish  your  obedience 
retarded,  or  your  sense  of  duty  confused  by  any  mistaken  ideas 
of  friendship  to  me  or  loyalty  to  my  person. 

"  In  these  times  the  individual  is  nothing,  the  cause  everything. 
Cliques,  cabals,  political  conspiracies  are  foolish,  dangerous — nay, 
wickedly  criminal.  For,  sir,  as  long  as  the  world  endures,  a 
house  divided  against  itself  must  fall. 

"  Which  leads  me  with  greatest  pleasure  to  mention  your  wise 
and  successful  diplomacy  in  the  matter  of  the  Long  House.  That 
house  you  have  most  cleverly  divided  against  itself ;  and  it  must 
fall — it  is  tottering  now,  shaken  to  its  foundations  of  centuries. 
Also,  I  have  the  pleasure  to  refer  to  your  capture  of  the  man 
Beacraft  and  his  papers,  disclosing  a  diabolical  plan  of  murder. 
The  man  has  been  condemned  by  a  court  on  the  evidence  as  it 
stood,  and  he  is  now  awaiting  execution. 

"  I  have  before  me  Colonel  Visscher's  partial  report  of  the  bat- 
tle of  Oriskany.  Your  name  is  not  mentioned  in  this  report,  but, 
knowing  you  as  I  believe  I  do,  I  am  satisfied  that  you  did  your 
full  duty  in  that  terrible  affair;  although,  in  your  report  to  me 
by  Oneida  runner,  you  record  the  action  as  though  you  yourself 
were  a  mere  spectator. 

"  I  note  with  pleasure  your  mention  of  the  gallantry  of  your 
riflemen,  Mount,  Murphy,  and  Elerson,  and  have  reported  it  to 
their  company  captain,  Mr.  Long,  who  will,  in  turn,  bring  it  to 
the  attention  of  Colonel  Morgan. 

295 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"  I  also  note  that  you  have  not  availed  yourself  of  the  war-sen 
vices  of  the  Oneidas,  for  which  I  beg  to  »u  personally. 

I  recall  with  genuine  pleasure  my  visit  to  your  uru  k .  Sir  Lu- 
pus Varick,  where  I  had  the  fortune  to  make  your  acquaintance 
and,  I  trust,  your  friendship. 

"  Mrs.  Schuyler  joins  me  in  kindest  remembrance  to  you,  and 
to  Sir  Lupus,  whose  courtesy  and  hospitality  I  have  to-day  had 
the  honor  to  acknowledge  by  letter.  Through  your  good  office 
we  take  advantage  of  this  opportunity  to  send  our  love  to  Miss 
Dorothy,  who  has  won  our  hearts. 

"  1  am.  sir,  your  most  obedient, 

"  PHIUP  SCHUYLER, 

"  Major-General 

P.S.— I  had  almost  forgotten  to  congratulate  you  on  your 
merited  advancement  in  military  rank,  for  which  you  may  thank 
our  wise  and  good  Governor  Clinton. 

"  I  shall  not  pretend  to  offer  yon  unasked  advice  upon  this 
happy  occasion,  though  it  is  an  old  nan's  temptation  to  do  so, 
perhaps  even  his  prerogative,  However,  there  are  younger  colo- 
nels than  you,  sir,  in  our  set  rice  ay,  and  brigadiers,  too.  So 
be  humble,  and  lay  not  this  honor  with  too  much  unction  to  your 
heart.  Your  friend, 

"PH.  SCHUYLER." 

I  sat  for  a  while  staring  at  this  good  man's  letter, 
then  opened  the  next  missive. 

"  HEADQUARTERS.  DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  NORTH, 
"  STILLWATER, 

"August  12,  1777- 
"  Colonel  Gflorjr  Ormond.  on  Scout: 

"  SIR. — By  order  of  Major-General  Gates,  commanding  this 
department,  you  will,  upon  reception  of  this  order,  instantly  re- 
pair to  Varick  Manor  and  report  your  arrival  by  express  or  a  na* 
runner  to  be  trusted,  preferably  an  Oneida.  At  nine  o'clock, 
the  day  following  your  arrival  at  Varicks',  you  will  leave  on 
your  journey  to  Still  water,  where  you  will  report  to  General 
Gates  for  further  orders. 

Vour  small  experience  in  military  matters  of  organize 
renders  it  most  necessary  that  you  should  be  aided  in  the  forma- 
tion of  your  regiment  of -rangers  by  a  detail  from  Colonel  Mor- 
gan's Rifles,  as  well  as  by  the  advice  of  General  Gates. 

"  You  will,  therefore,  retain  the  riflemen  composing  your  scout, 

296 


THE    HOME    TRAIL 

btrt  attempt  nothing  towards  enlisting  your  companies  until  you 
receive  your  instructions  personally  and  in  full  from  head- 
quarters. 

"  I  am,  sir, 

"  Your  very  obedient  servant, 

"  WILKINSON,  Adjutant-General. 
"  For  Major-General  Gates,  commanding." 

"Why,  in  Heaven's  name,  should  I  lose  time  by 
journeying  to  headquarters?"  I  said,  aloud,  looking 
up  from  my  letter.  Ahl  There  was  the  difference 
between  Schuyler,  who  picked  his  man,  told  him  what 
he  desired,  and  left  him  to  fulfil  it,  and  Gates,  who 
chose  a  man,  flung  his  inexperience  into  his  face,  and 
bade  him  twirl  his  thumbs  and  sit  idle  until  head- 
quarters could  teach  him  how  to  do  what  he  had 
been  chosen  to  do,  presumably  upon  his  ability  to 
doit! 

A  helpless  sensation  of  paralysis  came  over  me — a 
restless,  confused  impression  of  my  possible  untrust- 
worthiness,  and  of  unfriendliness  to  me  in  high  quar- 
ters, even  of  a  thinly  veiled  hostility  to  me. 

What  a  letter!  That  was  not  the  way  to  get  work 
out  of  a  subordinate  —  this  patronizing  of  possible 
energy  and  enthusiasm,  this  cold  dampening  of  ardor, 
as  though  ardor  in  itself  were  a  reproach  and  zeal 
required  reproof. 

Wondering  why  they  had  chosen  me  if  they  thought 
me  a  blundering  and,  perhaps,  mischievous  zealot,  I 
picked  up  a  parcel,  undirected,  and  broke  the  string. 

Out  of  it  fell  two  letters.  The  writing  was  my  cousin 
Dorothy's;  and,  trembling  all  over  in  spite  of  myself, 
I  broke  the  seal  of  the  first.  It  was  undated : 

"  DEAREST, — Your  letter  from  Oriskany  is  before  me.  I  am 
here  in  your  room,  the  door  locked,  alone  with  your  letter,  over- 
whelmed with  love  and  tenderness  and  fear  for  you. 

"  They  tell  me  that  you  have  been  made  colonel  of  a  regiment 

297 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

and  the  honor  thrills  yet  saddens  me — all  those  colonels  killed  a% 
Oriskany  I    Is  it  a  post  of  special  danger,  dear? 

"  Oh,  my  brave,  splendid   lover  I  with  your  quiet,  steady  eye* 
and  your  bright  hair — you  angel  on  earth  who  found  me  a  child 
and  left  me  an  adoring  woman — can  it  be  that  in  this  world  i 
is  such  a  thing  as  death  for  you?    And  could  the  world  last  with- 
out you? 

"  Ah  me  I  dreary  me  I  the  love  that  is  in  me  I    Who  could  be- 
lieve it?     Who  could  doubt  that  it  is  divine  and  not  inspired  by 
hell  as  I  once  feared;  it  is  so  beautiful,  so  hopelessly  beaut 
like  that  faint  thrill  of  splendor  that  passes  shadowing  a  dream 
where,  for  an  instant,  we  think  to  see  a  tiny  corner  of  heaven 
sparkling  out  through  a  million  fathoms  of  terrific  night  . 
Did  you  ever  dream  that? 

.  ... 

We  have  been  gay  here.  Young  Mr.  Van  Rensselaer  came 
from  Albany  to  heal  the  breach  with  father.  We  danced  and 
had  games.  He  is  a  good  young  man,  this  patroon  and  pat 
Listen,  dear  :  he  permitted  all  his  tenants  to  join  the  army  of  Gates, 
cancelled  their  rent  rolls  during  their  service,  and  promised  to 
provide  for  their  families.  It  will  take  a  fortune,  but  his  deeds 
are  better  than  his  words. 

"  Only  one  thing,  dear,  that  troubled  me.     I  tell  it  to  you,  as 
I  tell  you  everything,  knowing  you  to  be  kind  and  pitiful.     I 
this:  he  asked  father's  permission  to  address  me,  not  knowing 
I  was  affianced.     How  sad  is  hopeless  love  I 

"  There  was  a  battle  at  Bennington,  where  General  Stark's  men 
whipped  the  Brunswick  troops  and  took  equipments  for  a  thou- 
sand cavalry,  so  that  now  you  should  see  our  Legion  of  Horse, 
so  gay  in  their  buff -and -blue  and  their  new  helmets  and  great, 
spuircd  jack-boots  and  bright  sabres  I 

"  Ruyven  was  stark  mad  to  join  them ;  and  what  do  you  tl 

Lupus  consented,  and  General  Schuylcr  lent  his  kind  offices, 
and  to-day,  if  you  please,  my  brother  is  strutting  about  the  yard 
in  the  uniform  of  a  Cornet  of  Legion  cavalry  I 

"To-night  the  squadron  leaves  to  chase  some  of  McDonald's 
renegades  out  of  Broadalbin.  You  remember  Captain  McDonald, 
the  Glencoe  brawler? — it's  the  same  one,  and  he's  done  murder, 
they  say,  on  the  folk  of  Tribes  Hill.  I  am  thankful  that  Ruyven 
is  in  Sir  George  Covert's  squadron. 

d.  dear,  what  do  you   think?    Walter  Butler  was  taken, 
three  days  since,  by  some  of  Sir  George  Covert's  riders,  u 
iting  his  mother  and  sister  at  a  farm-house  near  Johnstown. 

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THE   HOME    TRAIL 

He  was  taken  within  our  lines,  it  seems,  and  in  civilian's  clothes ; 
and  the  next  day  he  was  tried  by  a  drum-court  at  Albany  and 
condemned  to  death  as  a  spy.  Is  it  not  awful?  He  has  not 
yet  been  sentenced.  It  touches  us,  too,  that  an  Ormond-Butler 
should  die  on  the  gallows.  What  horrors  men  commit  1  What 
horrors!  God  pity  his  mother! 

"  I  am  writing  at  a  breathless  pace,  quill  flying,  sand  scattered 
by  the  handful — for  my  feverish  gossip  seems  to  help  me  to  en- 
dure. 

"  Time,  space,  distance  vanish  while  I  write ;  and  I  am  with  you 
.  .  .  until  my  letter  ends. 

"  Then,  quick !  my  budget  of  gossip!  I  said  that  we  had  been 
gay,  and  that  is  true,  for  what  with  the  Legion  camping  in  our 
quarters  and  General  Arnold's  men  here  for  two  days,  and  Schuy- 
ler's  and  Gates's  officers  coming  and  going  and  always  remaining 
to  dine,  at  least,  we  have  danced  and  picnicked  and  played  music 
and  been  frightened  when  McDonald's  men  came  too  near.  And 
oh,  the  terrible  pall  that  fell  on  our  company  when  news  came  of 
poor  Janet  McCrea's  murder  by  Indians — you  did  not  know  her, 
but  I  did,  and  loved  her  dearly  in  school — the  dear  little  tiling! 
But  Burgoyne's  Indians  murdered  her,  and  a  fiend  called  The 
Wyandot  Panther  scalped  her,  they  say — all  that  beautiful,  silky, 
long  hair )  But  Burgoyne  did  not  hang  him.  Heaven  only  knows 
why,  for  they  said  Burgoyne  was  a  gentleman  and  an  honorable 
soldier  I 

"  Then  our  company  forgot  the  tragedy,  and  we  danced — think 
of  it,  dear !  How  quickly  things  are  forgotten !  Then  came  the 
terrible  news  from  Oriskany !  I  was  nearly  dead  with  fright  until 
your  letter  arrived.  .  .  .  So,  God  help  us !  we  danced  and  laughed 
and  chattered  once  more  when  Arnold's  troops  came. 

"  I  did  not  quite  share  the  admiration  of  the  women  for  General 
Arnold.  He  is  not  finely  fibred ;  not  a  man  who  appeals  to  me ; 
though  I  am  very  sorry  for  the  slight  that  the  Congress  has  put 
upon  him;  and  it  is  easy  to  see  that  he  is  a  brave  and  dashing 
officer,  even  if  a  trifle  coarse  in  the  grain  and  inclined  to  be  a  lit- 
tle showy.  What  I  liked  best  about  him  was  his  deep  admira- 
tion and  friendship  for  our  dear  General  Schuyler,  which  does 
him  honor,  and  doubly  so  because  General  Schuyler  has  few 
friends  in  politics,  and  Arnold  was  perfectly  fearless  in  showing 
his  respect  and  friendship  for  a  man  who  could  do  him  no  favors. 

"  Dear,  a  strange  and  amusing  thing  has  happened.  A  few 
acore  of  friendly  Oneidas  and  lukewarm  Onondagas  came  here 

299 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

to  pay  their  respects  to  Magdalen  Brant,  who,  they  heard,  was 
living  at  our  house. 

"  Magdalen  received  them;  she  is  a  sweet  girl  and  very  good 
to  her  wild  kin ;  and  so  father  permitted  them  to  camp  in  the  empty 
house  in  the  sugar-bush,  aud  sent  them  food  and  tobacco  and 
enough  rum  to  please  them  without  starting  them  war-da  DC  -\ 

"  Now  listen.  You  have  heard  me  tell  of  the  Stonish  Giants 
*-Hhoae  legendary  men  of  stone  whom  the  Iroquois,  Hurons, 
Algonquins,  and  Lenape  stood  in  such  dread  of  two  hundred 
years  ago,  and  whom  our  historians  believe  to  have  been  some 
lost  company  of  Spaniards  in  armor,  strayed  northward  from 
Cortez's  army. 

"  Well,  then,  this  is  what  occurred : 

i  hey  were  all  at  me  to  put  on  that  armor  which  hangs  in  the 
hall— the  same  suit  which  belonged  to  the  first  Maid-at-Arms, 
and  which  she  is  painted  in,  and  which  I  wore  that  last  memo- 
rable night — you  remember. 

"  So,  to  please  them,  I  dressed  in  it— helmet  and  all— and  came 
down.  Sir  George  Covert's  bone  stood  at  the  stockade  gate,  and 
somebody— I  think  it  was  General  Arnold— dared  me  to  ride  it  in 
my  armor. 

"Well,  .  a!.     Then  a  mad  desire  for  a  gallop  seized  me — 

I  had  not  mounted  a  horse  since  that  last  ride  with  you— and  I 
set  spurs  to  the  poor  beast,  who  wan  already  dancing  under  the 
unaccustomed  burden,  and  away  we  tore. 

"  My  conscience  I  what  a  ride  that  was  t  and  the  dang  of  my 
armor  set  the  poor  hone  frantic  till  I  could  scarce  govern  him. 

Then  the  absurd  happened.  I  wheeled  the  hone  into  the  past- 
ure,  meaning  to  let  him  tire  himself,  for  he  was  really  running 
away  with  me ;  when,  all  at  once,  I  saw  a  hundred  terror-stricken 
savage*  rush  out  of  the  sugar-house,  stand  staring  a  second,  thea 
take  to  their  legs  with  most  doleful  cries  and  boots  and  piteous 
bowls, 

Oonahf  The  Stonish  Giants  have  returned  I  Oonah  t  Oo- 
nahl  The  Giants  of  Stone  r 

My  vizor  was  down  and  locked.  I  called  out  to  them  in  Dela- 
ware, but  at  the  sound  of  my  voice  they  ran  the' faster— five  score 
frantic  barbarians  I  And,  dear,  if  they  have  stopped  running  yet 
I  do  not  know  it.  for  they  never  came  back. 

"  But  the  most  absurd  part  of  it  all  is  that  the  Onondagas,  who 
are  none  too  friendly  with  us,  though  they  pretend  to  be,  have  told 
the  Cayugas  that  the  Stonish  Giants  have  returned  to  earth  from 
Biskoona,  which  is  bell.  And  I  doubt  not  that  the  dreadful  news 
will  spread  all  through  the  Six  Nations,  with,  perhaps,  some 

300 


THE    HOME    TRAIL 

astonishing  results  to  us.  For  scouts  have  already  come  in,  re- 
porting trouble  between  General  Burgoyne  and  his  Wyandots,  who 
declare  they  have  had  enough  of  the  war  and  did  not  enlist  to 
fight  the  Stonish  Giants — which  excuse  is  doubtless  meaningless 
to  him. 

"  And  other  scouts  from  the  northwest  say  that  St.  Leger  can 
scarce  hold  the  Senecas  to  the  siege  of  Stanwix  because  of  their 
great  loss  at  Oriskany,  which  they  are  inclined  to  attribute  to 
spells  cast  by  their  enemies,  who  enjoy  the  protection  of  the  Ston- 
ish Giants. 

"  Is  it  not  all  mad  enough  for  a  child's  dream? 

"  Ay,  life  and  love  are  dreams,  dear,  and  a  mad  world  spins 
them  out  of  nothing.  .  .  .  Forgive  me.  ...  I  have  been  sewing  on 
my  wedding-gown  again.  And  it  is  nigh  finished. 

"  Good-night.     I  love  you.  D." 

Blindly  I  groped  for  the  remaining  letter  and  tore 
the  seal. 

"  Sir  George  has  just  had  news  of  you  from  an  Oneida  who 
says  you  may  be  here  at  any  moment !  And  I,  O  God !  terrified 
at  my  own  mad  happiness,  fearing  myself  in  that  meeting,  begged 
him  to  wed  me  on  the  morrow.  I  was  insane,  I  think,  crazed 
with  fear,  knowing  that,  were  I  not  forever  beyond  you,  I  must 
give  myself  to  you  and  abide  in  hell  for  all  eternitv  ! 

"  And  he  was  astonished,  I  think,  but  kind,  as  he  always  is; 
and  now  the  dreadful  knowledge  has  come  to  me  that  for  me  there 
is  no  refuge,  no  safety  in  marriage  which  I,  poor  fool,  fled  to  for 
sanctuary  lest  I  do  murder  on  my  own  soul ! 

"What  shall  I  do?  What  can  I  do?  I  have  given  my  word 
to  wed  him  on  the  morrow.  If  it  be  mortal  sin  to  show  ingrati- 
tude to  a  father  and  deceive  a  lover,  what  would  it  be  to  deceive 
a  husband  and  disgrace  a  father? 

"  And  I,  silly  innocent,  never  dreamed  but  that  temptation  ceased 
within  the  holy  bonds  of  wedlock — though  sadness  might  endure 
forever. 

"  And  now  I  know !  IL  he  imminent  and  instant  presence 
of  my  marriage  I  know  that  f  shall  love  you  none  the  less,  shall 
tempt  and  be  tempted  none  the  less.  And,  in  this  resistless, 
eternal  love,  I  may  fall,  dragging  you  down  with  me  to  our  end- 
less punishment. 

"It  was  not  the  fear  of  punishment  that  kept  me  true  to 

301 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

my  vows  before;  it  was  something  within  me,  I  don't  know 
what 

"  But,  if  I  were  wedded  with  him,  it  would  be  fear  of  punish- 
ment alone  that  could  save  me — not  terror  of  flames ;  I  could  en- 
dure them  with  you,  but  the  new  knowledge  that  has  come  to  me 
that  my  punishment  would  be  the  one  thing  I  could  not  endure — 
eternity  without  you  I 

"  Neither  in  heaven  nor  in  hell  may  I  have  you.  Is  there  no 
way,  my  beloved?  Is  there  no  place  for  us? 

•  •  •  •  . 

"  I  have  been  to  the  porch  to  tell  Sir  George  that  I  must  post- 
pone the  wedding.  I  did  not  tell  him.  He  was  standing  with 
Magdalen  Brant,  and  she  was  crying.  I  did  not  know  she  had 
received  bad  news.  She  said  the  news  was  had.  Perhaps  Sir 
George  can  help  her. 

"  I  will  tell  him  later  that  the  wedding  must  be  postponed 
I  don't  know  why,  either.     I  cannot  think.    I  can  scarcely  see  to 
write.    Oh,  help  me  once  more,  my  darling  I    Do  not  come  to  Var- 
icks'  I    That  is  all  I  desire  on  earth  I    For  we  must  never,  newer, 
see  each  other  again  I" 

Stunned,  I  reeled  to  my  feet  and  stumbled  out  mt<> 
the  moonlight,  staring  across  the  misty  wilderness 
into  the  east,  where,  beyond  the  forests,  som 
she  lay,  perhaps  a  bride. 

A  deathly  chill  struck  through  and  through  me. 
To  a  free  man,  with  one  shred  of  pity,  honor,  unselfish 
love,  that  appeal  must  be  answered.  And  he  were  the 
basest  man  in  all  the  world  who  should  ignore  it  and 
show  his  face  at  Varick  Manor — were  he  free  to  choose. 

But  I  was  not  free;  I  was  a  military  servant, pledged 
under  solemn  oath  and  before  God  to  obedience  — 
stant,  unquestioning,  unfaltering  obedience. 

And  in  my  trembling  hand  I  held  my  written  orders 
to  report  at  Varick  Manor. 


XX 

COCK-CROW 

AT  dawn  we  left  the  road  and  struck  the  Oneida 
trail  north  of  the  river,  following  it  swiftly,  bear- 
ing a  little  north  of  east  until,  towards  noon,  we  came 
into  the  wagon-road  which  runs  over  the  Mayfield  hills 
and  down  through  the  outlying  bush  farms  of  Mayfield 
and  Kingsborough. 

Many  of  the  houses  were  deserted,  but  not  all;  here 
and  there  smoke  curled  from  the  chimney  of  some  lone- 
ly farm;  and  across  the  stump  pasture  we  could  see 
a  woman  laboring  in  the  sun-scorched  fields  and  a 
man,  rifle  in  hand,  standing  guard  on  a  vantage-point 
which  overlooked  his  land. 

Fences  and  gates  became  more  frequent,  crossing  the 
rough  road  every  mile  or  two,  so  that  we  were  constant- 
ly letting  down  and  replacing  cattle- bars,  unpinning 
rude  gates,  or  climbing  over  snake  fences  of  split  rails. 

Once  we  came  to  a  cross-roads  where  the  fence  had 
been  demolished  and  a  warning  painted  on  a  rough 
pine  board  above  a  wayside  watering-trough. 

"WARNING! 

"  All  farmers  and  townsfolk  are  hereby  requested  and  ordered 
to  remove  gates,  stiles,  cow -bars,  and  fences,  which  includes  all 
obstructions  to  the  public  highway,  in  order  that  the  cavalry 
may  pass  without  difficulty.  Any  person  found  felling  trees 
across  this  road,  or  otherwise  impeding  the  operations  of  cavalry 
by  building  brush,  stump,  rail,  or  stone  fences  across  this  road, 
will  be  arrested  and  tried  before  a  court  on  charge  of  aiding  and 
giving  comfort  to  the  enemy.  G.  COVERT, 

"  Captain  Commanding  Legion." 

303 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Kither  this  order  did  not  apply  to  the  cross-road 
which  we  now  filed  into,  or  the  owners  of  adjacent 
lands  paid  no  heed  to  it ;  for  presently,  a  few  rods  ahead 
of  us,  we  saw  a  snake  fence  barring  the  road  and  a 
man  with  a  pack  on  his  back  in  the  act  of  climbing 
over  it. 

He  was  going  in  the  same  direction  that  we  were, 
and  seemed  to  be  a  fur -trader  laden  with  packets  of 
peltry. 

I  said  this  to  Murphy,  who  laughed  and  looked  at 
Mount. 

"Who  carries  pelts  to  Quebec  in  August?"  asked 
Elerson,  grinning. 

"There's  the  skin  of  a  wolverine  dangling  from  his 
pack,"  I  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

Murphy  touched  Mount's  arm,  and  they  halted  until 
the  man  ahead  had  rounded  a  turn  in  the  road;  then 
v  sprang  forward,  creeping  swiftly  to  the  shelter 
of  the  undergrowth  at  the  bend  of  the  road,  while  K 
son  and  I  followed  at  an  easy  pace. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  as  we  rejoined  them  where 
they  were  kneeling,  looking  after  the  figure  ahead. 

"Nothing,  sir;  we  only  want  to  see  them  pelts,  Tim 
and  me." 

"  Do  you  know  the  man?"  I  demanded. 

Murphy  gazed  musingly  at  Mount  through  nar- 
rowed eyes.  Mount,  in  a  brown  study,  stared  b,i 

"Phwere  th'  divil  have  I  seen  him,  I  dunnoa!"  mut- 
tered Murphy.  "Jack,  'tis  wan  mush-rat  looks  like 
th  next,  an'  all  thrappers  has  the  same  cut  to  thcml 
Yonder's  no  thrapj 

"Nor  peddler,"  added  Mount:  "the  strap  of  the 
Delaware  baskets  never  bowed  his  legs." 

"Thrue,  avick!  Wisha,  lad,  'tis  horses  he  knows 
better  than  snow-shoes,  bed-plates,  an'  thrip-sticks! 
An'  I've  seen  him,  I  think!" 

304 


COCK-CROW 

"Where?"  I  asked. 

He  shook  his  head,  vacantly  staring.  Moved  by 
the  same  impulse,  we  all  started  forward ;  the  man  was 
not  far  ahead,  but  our  moccasins  made  no  noise  in  the 
dust  and  we  closed  up  swiftly  on  him  and  were  at  his 
elbow  before  he  heard  us. 

Under  the  heavy  sunburn  the  color  faded  in  his 
cheeks  when  he  saw  us.  I  noted  it,  but  that  was 
nothing  strange  considering  the  perilous  conditions 
of  the  country  and  the  sudden  shock  of  our  appear- 
ance. 

"Good-day,  friend/'  cried  Mount,  cheerily. 

"Good-day,  friends/'  he  replied,  stammering  as 
though  for  lack  of  breath. 

"God  save  our  country,  friend,"  added  Elerson, 
gravely. 

"God  save  our  country,  friends,"  repeated  the  man. 

So  far,  so  good.  The  man,  a  thick,  stocky,  heavy- 
eyed  fellow,  moistened  his  broad  lips  with  his  tongue, 
peered  furtively  at  me,  and  instantly  dropped  his  eyes. 
At  the  same  instant  memory  stirred  within  me ;  a  vague 
recollection  of  those  heavy,  black  eyes,  of  that  broad, 
bow-legged  figure  set  me  pondering. 

"Me  fri'nd,"  purred  Murphy,  persuasively,  "is  th' 
Frinch  thrappers  balin'  August  peltry  f'r  to  sell  in 
Canady?" 

"I've  a  few  late  pelts  from  the  lakes,"  muttered  the 
man,  without  looking  up. 

"Domned  late,"  cried  Murphy,  gayly.  "Sure  they 
do  say,  if  ye  dhraw  a  summer  mink  an'  turrn  th'  pelt 
inside  out  like  a  glove,  the  winther  fur  will  sprout  in- 
side— wid  fashtin'  an'  prayer." 

The  man  bent  his  eyes  obstinately  on  the  ground; 
instead  of  smiling  he  had  paled. 

"  Have  you  the  skin  of  a  wampum  bird  in  that  bale?" 
asked  Mount,  pleasantly. 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Elerson  struck  the  pack  with  the  flat  of  his  hand; 
the  mangy  wolverine  pelt  crackled. 

"Green  hides!  Green  hides!"  laughed  Mount,  sar- 
castically. "Come,  my  friend,  we're  your  customers. 
Down  with  your  bales  and  111  buy." 

Murphy  had  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  the  man's  shoul- 
der, halting  him  short  in  his  tracks;  Elerson,   rifle 
cradled  in  the  hollow  of  his  left  arm,  poked  his  f 
linger  into  the  bales,  then  sniffed  at  the  aperture. 

"  There  are  green  hides  there!"  he  exclaimed,  step- 
ping back.  "Jack,  slip  that  pack  off!" 

The  man  started  forward,  crying  out  that  he  had  no 
time  to  waste,  but  Murphy  jerked  him  back  by  the  col- 
lar and  Elerson  seized  his  right  arm. 

"  Wait!"  I  said,  sharply.  "  You  cannot  stop  a  man 
likr  this  on  the  highway!" 

"  You  don't  know  us,  sir,"  replied  Mount,  impudently. 

"  Come,  Colonel  Ormond,"  added  Elerson,  almost  sav- 
agely. "You're  our  captain  no  longer.  Give  way, 
sir.  Answer  for  your  own  men,  and  well  answer  to 
Danny  Morgan!" 

Mount,  struggling  to  unfasten  the  pack,  looked  over 
his  huge  shoulders  at  me. 

"Not  that  we're  not  fond  of  you,  sir;  but  we  know 
this  old  fox  nov 

"  You  lie!"  shrieked  the  man,  hurling  his  full  weight 
at  Murphy  and  tearing  his  right  arm  free  from  EK  r- 
son's  grip. 

There  came  a  flash,  an  explosion ;  through  a  cloud 
of  smoke  I  saw  the  fellow's  right  arm  stretched  straight 
up  in  the  air,  his  hand  clutching  a  smoking  pistol,  and 
Elerson  holding  the  arm  rigid  in  a  grip  of  steel. 

Instantly  Mount  tripped  the  man  flat  on  his  face  in 
the  dust,  and  Murphy  jerked  his  arms  behind  his  back, 
tying  them  fast  at  the  wrists  with  a  cord  which  Eler- 
son cut  from  the  pack  and  flung  to  him. 

306 


COCK-CROW 

"Rip  up  thim  bales,  Jack!"  said  Murphy.  "Yell 
find  them  full  o'  powther  an'  ball  an'  cutlery,  sorr,  or 
I'm  a  liar!"  he  added  to  me.  "This  limb  o'  Lucifer 
is  wan  o'  Francy  McCraw's  renegados! — Danny  Red- 
stock,  sorr,  th'  tirror  av  the  Sacandagal" 

Redstock !  I  had  seen  him  at  Broadalbin  that  even- 
ing in  May,  threatening  the  angry  settlers  with  his 
rifle,  when  Dorothy  and  the  Brandt-Meester  and  I  had 
ridden  over  with  news  of  smoke  in  the  hills. 

Murphy  tied  the  prostrate  man's  legs,  pulled  him 
across  the  dusty  road  to  the  bushes,  and  laid  him  on 
his  back  under  a  great  maple-tree. 

Mount,  knife  in  hand,  ripped  up  the  bales  of  crack- 
ling peltry,  and  Elerson  delved  in  among  the  skins, 
flinging  them  right  and  left  in  his  impatient  search. 

"There's  no  powder  here,"  he  exclaimed,  rising  to 
his  knees  on  the  road  and  staring  at  Mount ;  "  nothing 
but  badly  cured  beaver  and  mangy  musk-rat" 

"Well,  he  baled  'em  to  conceal  something  1"  insisted 
Mount.  "No  man  packs  in  this  moth-eaten  stuff  for 
love  of  labor.  What's  that  parcel  in  the  bottom?" 

"  Not  powder,"  replied  Elerson,  tossing  it  out,  where 
it  rebounded,  crackling. 

"Squirrel  pelts,"  nodded  Mount,  as  I  picked  up  the 
packet  and  looked  at  the  sealed  cords.  The  parcel 
was  addressed:  "General  Barry  St  Leger,  in  camp 
before  Stanwix."  I  sat  down  on  the  grass  and  began 
to  open  it,  when  a  groan  from  the  prostrate  prisoner 
startled  me.  He  had  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture, 
and  was  facing  me,  eyes  bulging  from  their  sockets. 
Every  vestige  of  color  had  left  his  visage. 

"For  God's  sake  don't  open  thatl"  he  gasped — 
"  there  is  naught  there,  sir — " 

"  Silence  1"  roared  Mount,  glaring  at  him,  while 
Murphy  and  Elerson,  dropping  their  armfuls  of  pelts* 
came  across  the  road  to  the  bank  where  I  sat 

007 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

"I  will  not  be  silent !"  screamed  the  man,  rocking 

to  and  fro  on  the  ground.     "I  did  not  do  that!  —  I 

know  nothing  of  what  that  packet  holds!     A  Mohawk 

runner  gave  it  to  me — I  mean  that  I  found  it  on  the 

1—" 

The  riflemen  stared  at  him  in  contempt  while  I  cut 
the  strings  of  the  parcel  and  unrolled  the  bolt  of  heavy 
miller's  cloth. 

At  fir  t  1  did  not  comprehend  what  all  that  mass  of 
fluffy  hair  could   be.     A  deep  gasp  from  Mount  en- 
lightened me,  and  I  dropped  the  packet  in  a  revul 
of   horror  indescribable.     For  the  parcel  was  fairly 
bursting  with  tightly  packed  scalps. 

In  the  deathly  silence  I  heard  Redstock's  hoarse 
breathing.  Mount  knelt  down  and  gently  lifted  a  heavy 
mass  of  dark,  silky  hair. 

At  last  Elerson  broke  the  silence,  speaking  in  a 
strangely  gentle  and  monotonous  voice. 

"I  think  this  hair  was  Janet  McCrea's.  I  saw  her 
many  times  at  Half-moon.  No  maid  in  Tryon  County 
had  hair  like  here." 

Shuddering,  Mount  lifted  a  long  braid  of  dark-brown 
hair  fastened  to  a  hoop  painted  blue.  And  Elerson,  in 
that  strange  monotone,  continued  speaking: 

''The  hair  on  this  scalp  is  braided  to  show  that  the 
woman  was  a  mother;  the  skin  stretched  on  a  blue 
hoop  confirms  it 

*  The  murderer  has  painted  the  skin  yellow  with  ml 
dots  to  represent  tears  shed  for  the  dead  by  her  family. 
There  is  a  death-maul  painted  below  in  black ;  it  shows 
how  she  was  killed." 

He  laid  the  scalp  back  very  carefully.  Under  the 
mass  of  hair  a  bit  of  paper  stuck  out,  and  I  drew  it 
from  the  dreadful  packet  It  was  a  sealed  letter  di- 
rected to  General  St.  Leger,  and  I  opened  and  read  the 
contents  aloud  in  the  midst  of  a  terrible  silence. 

301 


COCK-CROW 

"  SACANDAGA  VLAIE, 

-  General  Barry  St.  Leger:  "  Autus*  *?'  **77. 

"  SIR, — I  send  you  under  care  of  Daniel  Redstock  the  first 
packet  of  scalps,  cured,  dried,  hooped,  and  painted  ;  four  dozen  in 
all,  at  twenty  dollars  a  dozen,  which  will  be  eighty  dollars.  This 
you  will  please  pay  to  Daniel  Redstock,  as  I  need  money  for  to- 
bacco and  rum  for  the  men  and  the  Senecas  who  are  with  me. 

"Return  invoice  with  payment  acquitted  by  the  bearer,  who 
will  know  where  to  find  me.  Below  I  have  prepared  a  true  in- 
voice. Your  very  humble  servant, 

"  F.  McCRAW. 
"  Invoice. 

(6)  Six  scalps  of  farmers,  green  hoops  to  show  they  were  killed 
in  their  fields;  a  large  white  circle  for  the  sun,  showing 
it  was  day ;  black  bullet  mark  on  three ;  hatchet  on  two. 

(2)  Two  of  settlers,  surprised  and  killed  in  their  houses  or  barns  ; 
hoops  red ;  white  circle  for  the  sun ;  a  little  red  foot  to  show 
they  died  fighting.  Both  marked  with  bullet  symbol. 

(4)  Four  of  settlers.     Two  marked  by  little  yellow  flames  to  show 

how  they  died.  (My  Senecas  have  had  no  prisoners  for 
burning  since  August  third.)  One  a  rebel  clergyman,  his 
band  tied  to  the  scalp-hoop,  and  a  little  red  foot  under  a  red 
cross  painted  on  the  skin.  (He  killed  two  of  my  men  be- 
fore we  got  him.)  One,  a  poor  scalp,  the  hair  gray  and 
thin;  the  hoop  painted  brown.  (An  old  man  whom  we 
found  in  bed  in  a  rebel  house.) 

(12)  Twelve  of  militia  soldiers ;  stretched  on  black  hoops  four  inches 
in  diameter,  inside  skin  painted  red  ;  a  black  circle  showing 
they  were  outposts  surprised  at  night ;  hatchet  as  usual. 

(12)  Twelve  of  women  ;  one  unbraided — a  very  fine  scalp  (bought 
of  a  Wyandot  from  Burgoyne's  army),  which  I  paid  full 
price  for;  nine  braided,  hoops  blue,  red  tear-marks;  two 
very  gray;  black  hoops,  plain  brown  color  inside;  death- 
maul  marked  in  red. 

(6)  Six  of  boys'  scalps;  small  green  hoops;  red  tears;  symbols 
in  black  of  castete,  knife,  and  bullet. 

(5)  Five  of  girls'  scalps;  small  yellow  hoops.     Marked  with  the 

Seneca  symbol  to  whom  they  were  delivered  before  scalping* 
(l)  One  box  of  birch-bark  containing  an  infant's  scalp;  very  lit- 
tle hair,  but  well  dried  and  cured.     (I  must  ask  full  price 
for  this.) 

48  scalps  assorted,  @  20  dollars  a  dozen 80  dollars. 

"  Received  payment,  F.  McCRAW." 

309 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

The  ghastly  face  of  the  prisoner  turned  livid,  and 
he  shrieked  as  Mount  caught  him  by  the  collar  and 
dragged  him  to  his  feet 

"  Jack/'  I  said,  hoarsely,  "  the  law  sends  that  man 
before  a  court" 

"Court  be  damned  1"  growled  Mount,  as  Elerson 
uncoiled  the  pack-rope,  flung  one  end  over  a  maple 
limb  above,  and  tied  a  running  noose  on  the  other  end. 

Murphy  crowded  past  me  to  seize  the  prisoner,  but 
I  caught  him  by  the  arm  and  pushed  him  aside. 

"Men!"  I  said,  angrily;  "I  don't  care  whose  com. 
mand  you  are  under.  I'm  an  officer,  and  you'll  listen 
to  me  and  obey  me  with  respect  Murphy  I" 

The  Irishman  gave  me  a  savage  stare. 

"By  God!"  I  cried,  cocking  my  nlk •,  " if  one  of  you 
dares  disobey.  111  shoot  him  where  he  stands!  Mur- 
phy !  Stand  aside !  Mount,  bring  that  prisoner  here ! " 

There  was  a  pause;  then  Murphy  touched  his  cap 
and  stepped  back  quietly,  nodding  to  Mount,  who 
shuffled  forward,  pushing  the  prisoner  and  darting  a 
glance  at  me. 


"Redstock,"  I  said,     where  is  McCraw?" 

A  torrent  of  filthy  abuse  poured  out  of  the  prise.: 
writhing  mouth.     He  cursed  us,  threatening  us  with  a 
terrible  revenge  from  McCraw  if  we  harmed  a  hair  of 
his  head. 

Astonished,  I  saw  that  he  had  mistaken  my  attitude 
for  one  of  fear.  I  strove  to  question  him,  but  he  inso- 
lently refused  all  information.  My  men  ground  their 
teeth  with  impatience,  and  I  saw  that  I  could  control 
them  no  longer. 

So  I  gave  what  color  I  could  to  the  lawless  act  of 
justice,  partly  to  save  my  waning  authority,  partly  to 
save  them  the  consequences  of  executing  a  prisoner 
who  might  give  valuable  information  to  the  authorities 
in  Albany. 

310 


COCK-CROW 

I  ordered  Elerson  to  hold  the  prisoner  and  adjust  the 
noose;  Murphy  and  Mount  to  the  rope's  end.  Then  I 
said:  "Prisoner,  this  field-court  finds  you  guilty  of 
murder  and  orders  your  execution.  Have  you  any- 
thing to  say  before  sentence  is  carried  out?" 

The  wretch  did  not  believe  we  were  in  earnest.  I 
nodded  to  Elerson,  who  drew  the  noose  tight ;  the  pris- 
oner's knees  gave  way,  and  he  screamed;  but  Mount 
and  Murphy  jerked  him  up,  and  the  rope  strangled  the 
screech  in  his  throat. 

Sickened,  I  bent  my  head,  striving  to  count  the  sec- 
onds as  he  hung  twisting  and  quivering  under  the 
maple  limb. 

Would  he  never  die?  Would  those  spasms  nevei 
end? 

"Shtep  back,  sorr,  if  ye  plaze,  sorr,"  said  Murphy, 
gently.  "  Sure,  sorr,  ye're  as  white  as  a  sheet.  Walk 
away  quiet-like;  ye're  not  used  to  such  things,  sorr." 

I  was  not,  indeed;  I  had  never  seen  a  man  done  to 
death  in  cold  blood.  Yet  I  fought  off  the  sickening 
faintness  that  clutched  at  my  heart;  and  at  last  the 
dangling  thing  hung  limp  and  relaxed,  turning  slow- 
ly round  and  round  in  mid-air. 

Mount  nodded  to  Murphy  and  fell  to  digging  with 
a  sharpened  stick.  Elerson  quietly  lighted  his  pipe 
and  aided  him,  while  Murphy  shaved  off  a  white  square 
of  bark  on  the  maple-tree  under  the  slow-turning  body, 
and  I  wrote  with  the  juice  of  an  elderberry : 

"Daniel  Redstock,  a  child  murderer,  executed  by 
American  Riflemen  for  his  crimes,  under  order  of  George 
Ormond,  Colonel  of  Rangers,  August  19,  1777.  Rene- 
gades and  Outlaws  take  warning!" 

When  Mount  and  Elerson  had  finished  the  shallow 
grave,  they  laid  the  scalps  of  the  murdered  in  the  hole, 
stamped  down  the  earth,  and  covered  it  with  sticks 
and  branches  lest  a  prowling  outlaw  or  Seneca  dis- 


THE   MAID-AT-ARMS 

inter  the  remains  and  reap  a  ghastly  reward  for  theia 
redemption  from  General   tlu*  Hon.  Barry  St  LCL 
Commander  of  the  British,  Hessians,  Loyal  Colonials, 
and  Indi  -amp  before  Fort  St 

As  \VL  K  ft  that  dreadful  spot,  and  before  I  could  in- 
terfere to  prevent  them,  the  three  riflemen  emptied  tlu-ir 
pieces  into  the  swinging  corpse — a  useless,  foolish,  and 
savage  performance,  and  I  said  so  sharj 

They  were  very  docile  and  contrite  and  otxv 
now,  explaining  that  it  was  a  customary  safeguard, 
as  hanged  men  had  been  revived  more  than  once — a 
flimsy  excuse,  indeed! 

"Very  well/'  I  said;  "your  shots  may  draw  Me- 
Craw's  whole  force  down  on  us.  But  doubtless  you 
know  much  more  than  your  officers — like  the  militia 
at  Oriskany." 

The  reproof  struck  home ;  Mount  muttered  his  apol- 
ogy ;  Murphy  offered  to  carry  my  rifle  if  I  was  fatigued. 
It   was   thoughtless,  I  admit  that/'  said  Elerson, 
looking  backward,  uneasily.    "  But  we're  close  to  the 
patroon's  boundary." 

"  We're  within  bounds  now,"  said  Mount     "  For 
Bush  lies  over  there  to  the  southeast,  and  the  Ylau 
yonder  below  the  mountain-notch.    This  wagon-track 
runs  into  the  louse  road." 

I  low  far  are  we  from  the  manor?"  I  asked. 

•out  two  miles  and  a  half,  sir,"  replied  Mount 
"Doubtless  some  of  Sir  George  Covert's  horsemen 
heard  our  shots,  and  well  meet  'em  cantering  out  to 
stigate." 

I  had  not  imagined  we  were  as  near  as  that  A 
painful  thrill  passed  through  me;  my  heart  leaped. 
beating  feverishly  in  my  breast 

Minute  after  minute  dragged  as  we  filed  swiftly  on- 
ward, mechanically  treading  in  each  <>th  ks. 
I  strove  to  consider,  to  think,  to  picture  the  sad,  strange 

312 


COCK-CROW 

home-coming — to  see  her  as  she  would  stand,  stunned, 
astounded  that  I  had  ignored  her  appeal  to  help  her  by 
my  absence. 

I  could  not  think ;  my  thoughts  were  chaos ;  my  brain 
throbbed  heavily ;  I  fixed  my  hot  eyes  on  the  road  and 
strode  onward,  numbed,  seeing,  hearing  nothing. 

And,  of  a  sudden,  a  shout  rang  out  ahead ;  horsemen 
in  line  across  the  road,  rifles  on  thigh,  moved  forward 
towards  us;  an  officer  reversed  his  sword,  drove  it 
whizzing  into  the  scabbard,  and  spurred  forward,  fol- 
lowed by  a  trooper,  helmet  flashing  in  the  sun. 

"Ormondl"  cried  the  officer,  flinging  himself  from 
his  horse  and  holding  out  both  white-gloved  hands. 

"  Sir  George,  ...  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  ...  I  am  very 
— happy,"  I  stammered,  taking  his  hands. 

"Cousin  Ormond!"  came  a  timid  voice  behind  me. 

I  turned ;  Ruyven,  in  full  uniform  of  a  cornet,  flung 
himself  into  my  arms. 

I  could  scarce  see  him  for  the  mist  in  my  eyes;  I 
pressed  the  boy  close  to  my  breast  and  kissed  him  on 
both  cheeks. 

Utterly  unable  to  speak,  I  sat  down  on  a  log,  holding 
Sir  George's  gloved  hand,  my  arm  on  Ruyven 's  laced 
shoulder.  An  immense  fatigue  came  over  me;  I  had 
not  before  realized  the  pace  we  had  kept  up  for  these 
two  months  nor  the  strain  I  had  been  under. 

"Singleton!"  called  out  Sir  George,  "take  the  men 
to  the  barracks;  take  my  horse,  too — III  walk  back. 
And,  Singleton,  just  have  your  men  take  these  fine 
fellows  up  behind" — with  a  gesture  towards  the  rifle- 
men. "  And  see  that  they  lack  for  nothing  in  quarters ! " 

Grinning  sheepishly,  the  riflemen  climbed  up  behind 
the  troopers  assigned  them;  the  troop  cantered  off,  and 
Sir  George  pointed  to  Ruyven 's  horse,  indicating  that 
it  was  for  me  when  I  was  rested. 

"We  heard  shots,"  he  said;  "I  mistrusted  it  might 
313 


Till:    MAID-AT-ARMS 

be  a  salute  from  you,  but  came  ready  for  anything, 
you  see —    Lordl     How  thin  you've  grown,  Orm«>n<l ! 

a  cornet,  cousin!"  burst  out  Ruyven,  (nigging 
me  again  in   his  excitement.     "I   charged  with 
squadron  when  we  scattered  McDonald's  outlaws!     A 
man  let  drive  at  me — " 

"Oh,  come,  come,"  laughed   Sir  George,  "G' 
Ormond  has  had  more  bullets  driven  at  him  than  our 
Legion  pouches  in  their  bullet-bags!" 

"A  man  let  drive  at  me!"  breathed  Ruyven,  in  rapt- 
ure. "I  was  not  hit,  cousin!  A  man  let  drive  at  me, 
and  I  heard  the  bullet!" 

"Nonsense!"  said  Sir  George,  mischievously;  "you 
heard  a  bumble-bee!" 

"He  always  says  that.  ted  Ruyven,  looking 

at  me.        1  t  was  a  bullet,  for  it  went  zo-o-. 

tsing-g!  right  past  my  ear;  and  Sergeant  West  sh 
ed,  'Cut  him  cl  .  .      I  Jut  another  trooper  did 

that.     However,]  i-K  like  the  devil!" 

"Which  wa  juired  Sir  George,  in  pretend jd 

And  we  all  laughed. 

s  good  to  see  you  back  all  safe  and  sound,"  said 
George,  warmly.     "  Sir  Lupus  will  be  delighted  and 
the  half  crazcxL     You  should  hear  them  talk 

of  their  hero!" 

"  Dorothy  will  be  glad,  too/'  said  Ruyven.  "  You'll 
be  in  time  for  the  wedding." 

ove  to  smile,  facing  Sir  George  with  an  effort. 
His  face,  in  the  full  sunlight, seemed  haggard  and  care- 
worn, and  the  light  had  died  out  in  his  eyes. 

"For  the  wedding,"  he  repeated  "We  are  to  be 
wedded  to-morrow.  You  did  not  know  that,  did  y< 

"Yes;  I  did  know  it     Dorothy  wrote  me,"  I  said. 
A  numbed  feeling  crept  over  me;  I  scarce  heard 
words  I  uttered  when   I   wished  him  happiness, 
held  my  proffered  hand  a  second,  then  dropped  it 


COCK-CROW 

iessly,  thanking  me  for  my  good  wishes   in  a  low 
voice. 

There  was  a  vague,  troubled  expression  in  his  eyes,  a 
strange  lack  of  feeling.  The  thought  came  to  me  like  a 
stab  that  perhaps  he  had  learned  that  the  woman  he 
was  to  wed  did  not  love  him. 

"  Did  Dorothy  expect  me?"  I  asked,  miserably. 

"I  think  not/1  said  Sir  George. 

"She  believed  you  meant  to  follow  Arnold  to  Stan- 
wix,"  broke  in  Ruyven.  "I  should  have  done  it!  I 
regard  General  Arnold  as  the  most  magnificent  sot 
dier  of  the  age!"  he  added. 

"I  was  ordered  to  Varick  Manor,"  I  said,  looking 
at  Sir  George.  "Otherwise  I  might  have  followed 
Arnold.  As  it  is  I  cannot  stay  for  the  wedding;  I 
must  report  at  Stillwater,  leaving  by  nine  o'clock  in 
the  morning." 

"  Lord,  Ormond,  what  a  fire-eater  you  have  become!'* 
he  said,  smiling  from  his  abstraction.  "  Are  you  ready 
to  mount  Ruyven 's  nag  and  come  home  to  a  good  bed 
and  a  glass  of  something  neat?" 

"Let  Ruyven  ride,"  I  said;  "I  need  the  walk,  Sir 
George." 

"Need  the  walk!"  he  exclaimed.  "Have  you  not 
had  walks  enough? — and  your  moccasins  and  buck- 
skins in  ragsl" 

But  I  could  not  endure  to  ride ;  a  nerve-racking  rest- 
lessness was  on  me,  a  desire  for  movement,  for  utter 
exhaustion,  so  that  I  could  no  longer  have  even  strength 
to  think. 

Ruyven,  protesting,  climbed  into  his  dragoon-saddle ; 
Sir  George  walked  beside  him  and  I  with  Sir  George. 

Long,  soft  August  lights  lay  across  the  leafy  road; 
the  blackberries  were  in  heavy  fruit;  scarlet  thimble- 
berries,  over-ripe,  dropped  from  their  pithy  cones  as  we 
brushed  the  sprays  with  our  sleeves. 

315 


THE   MAID-AT-ARMS 

Sir  George  was  saying:  "No,  we  have  nothing  more 
to  fear  from  McDonald's  gang,  but  a  scoi  in, 

three  days  since,  bringing  word  of  McCraw's  outlaws 
who  have  appeared  in  the  west — " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  listening  to  a  sound  th;it   I 
also  heard ;  the  sudden  drumming  of  unshod  hoofs 
the  road  behind  us. 

"What  the  devil—"  he  began,  then  cocked  his  riile; 
I  threw  up  mine;  a  shrill  cock-crow  rang  out  above  the 
noise  of  tramping  horses;  a  galloping  mass  of  horse- 
men burst  into  view  behind  us,  coining  like  . 
lanche. 

"McCraw!"  shouted  Sir  George.     Ruyven  fired 

Sir  George's  rifle  and  mine  exploded  togeth- 
er; a  horse  and  rider  went  down  with  a  crash,  but  the 
others  came  straight  on,  and  the  cock-crow  rang  out 
triumphantly  above  the  roar  of  the  rushing  horses. 
K'  ;    ,  1    houted,"  ride  for  yoi.r  1 

"  1  won't!"  he  cried,  furiously;  but  I  seized  his  bridle, 
swung  his  frightened  horse,  and  struck  the  animal 
across  the  buttocks  with  clubbed   rifle.     Away   i 
the  maddened  beast,  almost  unseating  his  rider,  \sh«» 
both  stirrups  at  the  first  frantic  bound  and  cluntf 
helplessly  to  his  saddle-^inine!  while  the  horse  car 
him  away  like  the  wii 

Then  I  sprang  into  the  ozier  thicket,  Sir  George  at 
mv  side,  and  ran  a  little  way;  but  they  caught  us, 
even  before  we  reached  the  timber,  and  threw  us  to  the 
ground,  tying  us  up  like  basted  capons  with  straps 
from  their  saddles.  Maltreated,  struck,  kicked,  mauled, 
and  dragged  out  to  the  road,  I  looked  for  instant  death  ; 
but  a  lank  creature  flung  me  across  his  saddle,  face 
downward,  and,  in  a  second,  the  whole  band  had  moi 
ed,  wheeled  about,  and  were  galloping  westward,  ventre 
atcrre. 

Almost  dead  from  the  saddle-pommel  which  knocked 

316 


COCK-CROW 

the  breath  from  my  body,  suffocated  and  strangled 
with  dust,  I  hung  dangling  there  in  a  storm  of  flying 
sticks  and  pebbles.  Twice  consciousness  fled,  only  to 
return  with  the  blood  pounding  in  my  ears.  A  third 
time  my  senses  left  me,  and  when  they  returned  I 
lay  in  a  cleared  space  in  the  woods  beside  Sir  George, 
the  sun  shining  full  in  my  face,  flung  on  the  ground 
near  a  fire,  over  which  a  kettle  was  boiling.  And  on 
every  side  of  us  moved  McCraw's  riders,  feeding  their 
horses,  smoking,  laughing,  playing  at  cards,  or  com- 
ing up  to  sniff  the  camp-kettle  and  poke  the  boiling 
meat  with  pointed  sticks. 

Behind  them,  squatted  in  rows,  sat  two  dozen  Ind- 
ian*, watching  us  in  ferocious  silence. 


XXI 

THE  CRIS 

FOR  a  while  I  lay  there  stupefied,  liinj>-liinl>ed. 
less,  closing  my  aching  eyes  under  the  glittering 
red  rays  of  the  westering  sun 

My  parched  throat  throbbed  and  throbbed;  I  could 
scarce!  \  to  close  my  swollen  hands  where 

v  had  tied  my  wrists,  although  somebody  had 
the  cords  that  bound  me. 

"  Sir  George,"  I  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,  I  am  here,"  he  replied,  instantly. 

"Are  you  hi; 

"No,  Ormond.     Are  you?" 

"No;  very  tired;  that  is  all  " 

I  rolled  over;  my  head  reeled  and  I  held  it  in  my 
benumbed  hands,  looking  at  Sir  George,  who  lay  on 
le,  cheek  pillowed  on  his  am 

"  This  is  a  miserable  end  of  it  all,"  he  said,  with  calm 
bitterness.     "But  that   it   involves  you,  I  should 
dare  blame  fortune  for  the  Tool  I  acted.     I  have 
deserts;  but  it's  cnul  f..r  vou." 

The  sickening  whirling  in  my  head  became  unen- 
durable.    I  lay  down,  facum  him,  eyes  closed. 

"  It  was  not  your  fault,"  I  said,  dully. 

"There  is  no  profit  in  discussing  that,"  he  mut- 
tered.    "They  took  us  instead  of  scalping 
while  there's  life  there's  hope,  ...  a  little  ho;  I  Jut 
I'd  sooner  they'd  finish  me  here  than  rot  in  tluir  stink- 
ing prison-ships.  .  .  .  Ormond,  are  you  awal 

318 


THE    CRISIS 

"Yes,  Sir  George/' 

"If  they — if  the  Indians  get  us,  and — and  begin 
their — you  know — " 

"Yes;  I  know/' 

"  If  they  begin  .  .  .  that .  .  .  insult  them,  taunt  them, 
sneer  at  them,  laugh  at  them! — yes,  laugh  at  them! 
Do  anything  to  enrage  them,  so  they'll — they'll  finish 
quickly.  ...  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes/'  I  muttered;  and  my  voice  sounded  miles 
away. 

He  lay  brooding  for  a  while ;  when  I  opened  my  eyes 
he  broke  out  fretfully :  "  How  was  I  to  dream  that  Mc- 
Craw  could  be  so  near! — that  he  dared  raid  us  within 
a  mile  of  the  house!  Oh,  I  could  die  of  shame,  Or- 
mondl  die  of  shamel  .  .  .  But  I  won't  die  that  way;  oh 
no/'  he  added,  with  a  frightful  smile  that  left  his  face 
distorted  and  white. 

He  raised  himself  on  one  elbow. 

"Ormond,"  he  said,  staring  at  vacancy,  "  what  triv- 
ial matters  a  man  thinks  of  in  the  shadow  of  death. 
I  can't  consider  it;  I  can't  be  reconciled  to  it;  I  can't 
even  pray.  One  absurd  idea  possesses  me — that  Sin- 
gleton will  have  the  Legion  now;  and  he's  a  slack 
drill-master — he  is,  indeed!  .  .  .  I've  a  million  things  to 
think  of — an  idle  life  to  consider,  a  misspent  career  to 
repent,  but  the  time  is  too  short,  Ormond.  .  .  .  Perhaps 
all  that  will  come  at  the  instant  of— of — " 

"Death,"  I  said,  wearily. 

"Yes,  yes;  that's  it,  death.  I'm  no  coward;  I'm 
calm  enough — but  I'm  stunned.  I  can't  think  for  the 
suddenness  of  it!  .  .  .  And  you  just  home;  and  Ruy- 
ven  there,  snuggled  close  to  you  as  a  house-cat — and 
then  that  sound  of  galloping,  like  a  fly-stung  herd  of 
cattle  in  a  pasture!" 

"I  think  Ruyven  is  safe,"  I  said,  closing  my  eyes. 

"Yes,  he's  safe.  Nobody  chased  him;  they'll  know 
319 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

at  the  manor  by  this  time;  they  knew  lone:  aeo.  .  .  . 
My  men  will  be  out.  .  .  .  Where  are  we,  Orniond?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  murmured,  drowsily.  The  months 
of  fatigue,  the  unbroken  strain,  the  feverish  weeks  spent 
in  endless  trails,  the  constant  craving  for  moTement 
to  occupy  my  thoughts,  the  sleepless  nights  which 
were  the  more  unendurable  because  physical  exhaus- 
tion could  not  give  me  peace  or  rest,  now  told  on  me. 
I  drowsed  in  the  very  presence  of  death  ;  and  the  stupor 
settled  heavily,  bringing,  for  the  first  time  since  I  left 
Varick  Manor,  rest  and  immunity  from  despair  or  even 


I  cared  for  nothing  :  hope  of  her  was  dead  ;  hope  of 
life  might  die  and  I  was  acquiescent,  contented,  glad 
of  the  end.  I  had  endured  too  much. 

My  sleep—  or  unconsciousness  could  not  have  lasted 
long;  the  sun  was  not  yet  level  with  my  eyes  when  I 

lied  to  find  Sir  George  tugging  at  my  sleeve  and 
a  man  in  a  soiled  and  tarnished  scarlet  uniform  stand- 
ing over  me. 

But  that  brief  respite  from  the  strain  had  re. 
me;  a  bucket  of  cold  water  stood  near  the  fire,  and  I 
thrust  my  burning  face  into  it,  drinking  my  fill,  while 
the  renegade  in  >«  arlet  bawled  at  me  and  fumed  and 
cursed,  demanding  my  attention  to  what  he  was  say- 
ing. 

>u  damned  impudent  rebel!"  he  yelled;  "am  I 
to  stand  around  here  awaiting  your  pleasure  while  you 
swill  your  skin  full?" 

:j>ed  my  lips  with  my  torn  hands,  and  got  to  my 
feet  painfully,  a  trifle  dizzy  for  a  moment,  but  perfect- 
ly able  to  stand  and  to  comprehend. 

"  I'm  asking  you,"  he  snarled,  "why  we  can't  send 
a  flag  to  your  people  without  their  firing  on  it?" 
.on't  know  what  you  mean, 

"  I  do,"  said  Sir  George,  blandly 

720 


THE    CRISIS 

"Oh,  you  do^  eh?"  growled  the  renegade,  turning  on 
him  with  a  scowl.  "  Then  tell  me  why  our  flag  of  truce 
is  not  respected,  if  you  can/' 

"Nobody  respects  a  flag  from  outlaws/'  said  Sir 
George,  coolly. 

The  fellow's  face  hardened  and  his  eyes  blazed.  He 
started  to  speak,  then  shut  his  mouth  with  a  snap, 
turned  on  his  heel,  and  strode  across  the  treeless  glade 
to  where  his  noisy  riders  were  saddling  up,  tightening 
girths,  buckling  straps,  and  examining  the  unshod 
feet  of  their  horses  or  smoothing  out  the  burrs  from 
mane  and  tail.  The  red  sun  glittered  on  their  spurs, 
rifles,  and  the  flat  buckles  of  their  cross-belts.  Their 
uniform  was  scarlet  and  green,  but  some  wore  beaded 
shirts  of  scarlet  holland,  belted  in  with  Mohawk  wam- 
pum, and  some  were  partly  clothed  like  Cayuga  Ind- 
ians and  painted  with  Seneca  war-symbols  —  a  grew- 
some  sight. 

There  were  sarages  moving  about  the  fire — or  I  took 
them  for  savages,  until  one  half-naked  lout,  lounging 
near,  taunted  me  with  a  Scotch  burr  in  his  throat,  and 
I  saw,  in  his  horribly  painted  face,  a  pair  of  flashing 
eyes  fixed  on  me.  And  the  eyes  were  blue. 

There  was  something  in  that  ghastly  masquerade 
so  horrible,  so  unspeakably  revolting,  that  a  shiver  of 
pure  fear  touched  me  in  every  nerve.  Except  for  the 
voice  and  the  eyes,  he  looked  the  counterpart  of  the 
Senecas  moving  about  near  us;  his  skin,  bare  to  the 
waist,  was  stained  a  reddish  copper  hue;  his  black 
hair  was  shaved  except  for  the  knot ;  war-paint  smeared 
visage  and  chest,  and  two  crimson  quills  rose  from  be- 
hind his  left  ear,  tied  to  the  scalp-lock. 

"Let  him  alone;  don't  answer  him;  he's  worse  than 
the  Indians,"  whispered  Sir  George. 

Among  the  savages  I  saw  two  others  with  light  eyes, 
and  a  third  I  never  should  have  suspected  had  not  Sir 

321 


THE    MA1D-AT-ARMS 

George  pointed  out  his  feet,  which  were  planted  on  the 
ground  like  the  feet  of  a  white  man  when  he  walked, 
!  not  parallel  or  toed-in. 

But  now  the  loud-voiced  riders  were  climbing  into 
their  saddles;  the  officer  in  scarlet,  who  had  cursed  and 
iioned  us,  came  towards  us  leading  a  h< 

"You  treacherous  whelps!"  he  said,  fiercely;  "if  a 
flag  can't  go  to  you  safely,  we  must  send  one  of  you 
'•'.  it.  liy  I  leaven  I  you're  both  fit  for  roasting, 
and  it  sickens  me  to  send  youl  Rut  one  of  you 
goes  and  the  other  stays.  Now  fight  it  out — and  be 
quick!" 

An  amazed  silence  followed ;  then  Sir  George  asked 
why  one  of  us  was  to  be  liberated  and  the  other  kept 
prisoner. 

"Because  your  sneaking  rebel  friends  fire  on  the 
white  flap,  I  tell  you!"  cried  the  fellow,  furiously ;  " and 
we've  got  to  get  a  message  to  them.     You  are  Capt 
George  Covert,  are  you  not?    Very  good.     \ 
rebel  friends  have  taken  Captain  Walter  Butler  and 
mean  to  hang  him.     Now  you  tell  your  people  that 
we've  got  Colonel  Ormond  and  v.  you 

both,  a  colonel  and  a  captain  for  Walter  Butler.  Do 
you  understand?  That's  what  we  value  you  at;  a 
rebel  colonel  and  a  rebel  captain  for  a  single  loyal 
captain." 

1  ieorge  turned  to  me.     "There  is  not  the  faintest 
chance  of  an  exchange,"  he  said,  in  French. 

"Stop  that!"  threatened  the  man  in  scarlet,  la 
his  hand  on  his  hanger.    "Speak  English  or  Dela- 
ware, do  you  hear?" 

"Sir  George,"  I  said,  "you  will  go,  of  course.  I 
shall  remain  and  take  the  chance  of  exchange." 

"Pardon,"  he  said,  coolly;  "  I  remain  here  and  pay 
the  piper  for  the  tune  I  danced  to.  You  will  relieve  me 
of  ray  obligations  by  going,"  he  added,  stiffly. 

322 


THE    CRISIS 

"No,"  I  said;  "I  tell  you  I  don't  care.  Can't  you 
understand  that  a  man  may  not  care?" 

"I  understand/'  he  replied,  staring  at  me;  "and  I 
am  that  man,  Ormond.  Come,  get  into  your  saddle. 
Good-bye.  It  is  all  right;  it  is  perfectly  just,  and — it 
doesn't  matter." 

A  shrill  voice  broke  out  'across  the  cleared  circle. 
"Billy  Bones!  Billy  Bones!  Hae  ye  no  flints  f'r  the 
lads  that  ride?  Losh,  mon,  we'll  no  be  ganging  north 
the  day,  an'  ye  bide  droolin'  there  wi'  the  blitherin' 
Jacobites!" 

"The  flints  are  in  McBarron's  wagon!  Wait,  wait, 
Francy  McCraw!"  And  he  hurried  away,  bawling  for 
the  teamster  McBarron. 

"  Sir  George,"  I  said,  "  take  the  chance,  in  Heaven's 
name,  for  I  shall  not  go.  Don't  dispute;  don't  stand 
there!  Man,  man,  don't  delay,  I  tell  you,  or  they'll 
change  their  plan!" 

"I  won't  go,"  he  said,  sharply.  "Ormond,  am  I  a 
contemptible  poltroon  that  I  should  leave  you  here  to 
endure  the  consequences  of  my  own  negligence?  Do 
you  think  I  could  accept  life  at  that  price?" 

"I  tell  you  to  go!"  I  said,  harshly.  A  horrid  hope, 
a  terrible  and  unworthy  temptation,  had  seized  me  like 
a  thing  from  hell.  I  trembled ;  sweat  broke  out  on  me, 
and  I  set  my  teeth,  striving  to  think  as  the  woman  I 
had  lost  would  have  had  me  think.  "Quick!"  I  mut- 
tered, "don't  wait,  don't  delay;  don't  talk  to  me,  I  tell 
you!  Go!  Go!  Get  out  of  my  sight — " 

And  all  the  time,  pounding  in  my  brain,  the  pulse 
beat  out  a  shameful  thought;  and  mad  temptations 
swarmed,  whispering  close  to  my  ringing  ears  that  his 
death  was  my  only  chance,  my  only  possible  salvation 
— and  hers! 

"Go!"  I  stammered,  pushing  him  towards  the  horse; 
"  get  into  your  saddle !  Quick,  I  tell  you — I — I  can't  en- 

323 


THE    MA1D-AT-ARMS 

dure  this!     I  am  not  made  to  endure  everything,  I  tell 
you  I     Can't  you  have  a  little  mercy  on  me  and  k 
me 

I  refuse,"  he  said,  sullenly. 

"You  refuse!"  I  stammered,  beside  myself  with  the 
\orture  I  could  no  longer  bear.  "Then  stand  aside! 
I'll  i^o—I'll  KO  if  it  costs  me—  No!  No!  I  can't;  I 
can't,  I  tell  you;  it  costs  too  much!  .  .  .  Damn  you,  y»»u 
may  have  the  woman  I  love,  but  you  >hal!  leave  me  her 
respect!" 

"Ormond!    Ormond  ried,  in  sorrowful  amaze- 

ment ;  but  I  was  clean  out  of  my  head  now,  and  I  closed 
with  him,  clraiitfini:  him  towards  the  horse. 

1  ie  shook  himself  free,  glaring  at  r 

"lam  ...  your  superior  .  .  .  officer!  "I  panted,  ad- 
vancing on  him  ;  "  I  order  you  to  go!" 

He  looked  me  narrowly  in  the  eyes.  "And  I  refuse 
obedience,"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "  You  are  out  of  your 
miii 

hen,  by  God!"  I  shrieked,  "HI  force  you!" 

Hilly  Bones,  Francy  McCraw,  and  a  Seneca  came 
hastening  up.  I  leaped  on  McCraw  and  dealt  him  a 
blow  full  in  his  bony  fat  n£  the  lean  cheek  open. 

They  overpowered  me  tx  >uld  repeat  the  bl<  »\v  ; 

mg  me  down,  kicking  and  pounding  me  as  I 
re,  but  the  death -stroke  I  awaited  was  w 
lu  Id  :  the  castete  of  the  Seneca  was  jerked  from  his  fist 

Then  they  seized  Sir  George  and  forced  him  im 
saddle,  calling  on  four  troopers  to  pilot  him  within 
sight  of  the  manor  and  shoot  him  if  he  attempted  to 
return. 

"  You  tell  them  that  if  they  refuse  to  exchange  Wal- 
ter Butler  for  Ormond,  we've  torments  for  Colonel  Or- 
mond that  won't  kill  him  under  a  week!"  roared  Billy 
Bones. 

McCraw,  stupefied  with  amazement  and  rage,  stood 

324 


THE   CRISIS 

mopping  the  blood  from  his  blotched  face,  staring  at 
me  out  of  his  crazy  blue  eyes.  For  a  moment  his  hand 
fiddled  with  his  hatchet,  then  Bones  shoved  him  away, 
and  he  strode  off  towards  his  horsemen,  who  were  form- 
ing in  column  of  fours. 

"You  tell  'em/'  shouted  Bones,  "that  before  we  fin- 
ish  him  they'll  hear  his  screams  in  Albany!  If  they 
want  Colonel  Ormond,"  he  added,  his  voice  rising  to 
a  yell,  "  tell  'em  to  send  a  single  man  into  the  sugar- 
bush.  But  if  they  hang  Walter  Butler,  or  if  you  try  to 
catch  us  with  your  cavalry,  we'll  take  Ormond  where 
we'll  have  leisure  to  see  what  our  Senecas  can  do  with 
him!  Now  ride!  you  damned — " 

He  struck  Sir  George's  horse  with  the  flat  of  his 
hanger;  the  horse  bounded  off,  followed  by  four  of 
McCraw's  riders,  pistols  cocked  and  hatchets  loosened. 

Bruised,  dazed,  exhausted,  I  lay  there,  listening  to 
the  receding  thudding  of  their  horses'  feet  on  the  moss. 

The  crisis  was  over,  and  I  had  won — not  as  1  mi^lu 
have  chosen  to  win,  but  by  a  compromise  with  death 
for  deliverance  from  temptation. 

If  it  was  the  compromise  of  a  crazed  creature,  insane 
from  mental  and  physical  exhaustion,  it  was  not  the 
compromise  of  a  weak  man ;  I  did  not  desire  death  as 
long  as  she  lived.  I  dreaded  to  leave  her  alone  in  the 
world.  But,  though  she  loved  him  not — and  did  love 
me — I  could  not  accept  the  future  through  his  sacri- 
fice and  live  to  remember  that  he  had  laid  down  his 
life  for  a  friend  who  desired  from  him  more  than  he 
had  renounced. 

I  was  perfectly  sane  now ;  a  strange  calmness  came 
over  me;  my  mind  was  clear  and  composed;  my  medi- 
tations serene.  Free  at  last  from  hope,  from  sorrow- 
ful passion,  from  troubled  desire,  I  lay  there  thinking, 
watching  the  long,  red  sun-rays  slanting  through  the 
woods. 

32* 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Gratitude  to  God  for  a  life  ended  ere  I  fell  from  His 
grace,  ere  temptation  entangK  beyond  deli\ 

ance;   humble  pride  in  the  honorable  traditions  that 
I  had  received  and  followed  untainted ;  deep,  revt ; 
thankfulness  for  the  strength  vouchsafed  me  in  this 
supreme  crisis  of  my  life— i  i  of  a  madman, 

perhaps,  but  stil!  strength  to  be  true,  the  power  to 
nounce — these  were  the  meditations  that  brought  me 
rest  and  a  quietude  I  had  never   1  ulun  death 

seemed  a  long  way  off  and  life  on  earth  eternal. 

The  setting  sun  crimsoned  the  pines :  the  riders  were 
gathered  along  the  hill-side,  bending  far  <  luir 

saddles  to  scan  the  valley  below.  McCraw.  his  \\hite 
face  bound  with  a  bloody  rag,  drew  his  stra  lit  (lay- 
more  and  wound  the  tattered  tartan  around  his  wrist, 
mot  '.:lly  Bones  to  ride  on. 

"March!"  he  cried,  in  his  shrill  voice,  laying  his 
claymore  level;  and  the  long  files  moved  off,  spurs 
and  scabbards  clanking,  horses  crowding  and  tram- 

:  in,  faster  and  fasti T,  till  a  far  command  set  tl 
trotting  i*  away  into  the  west,  where 

the  kindling  sky  reddened  the  world. 

The  world! — it  would  be  the  same  to-morrow  with* 
me:  that  maple- tree  wnu Id  not  have  changed  a 
leaf;  th  hovering,  gauze-winged  creature,  drift- 

through  the  calm  air,  would  be  alive  when  I  was 

It  was  difficult  to  understand.     I  repeated  it  to  my- 
self  again  and  again,  but  the  phrases  had  no  meai 
to  me. 

The  sun  set  hts  lay  over  the  earth  ;  a 

thrush,  a  wakened  by  the  sweetness  of  the  twilii/ht  from 

summer  moping,  whistled  timidly,  tcntati\vl\  ; 

the  silvery,  evanescent  notes  floated  away,  away, 

in  endless,  heavenly  sereni; 

A  soft,  leather-shod  foot  nudged  me;  I  sat  up,  then 
526 


THE   CRISIS 

rose,  holding  out  my  wrists.  They  tied  me  loosely ;  a 
tall  warrior  stepped  beside  me;  others  fell  in  behind 
with  a  patter  of  moccasined  feet. 

Then  came  an  officer,  pistol  cocked  and  held  muzzle 
up.  He  was  the  only  white  man  left. 

"Forward,"  he  said,  nervously;  and  we  started  off 
through  the  purple  dusk. 

Physical  weariness  and  pain  had  left  me;  I  moved 
as  in  a  dream.  Nothing  of  apprehension  or  dismay 
disturbed  the  strange  calm  of  my  soul ;  even  desire  for 
meditation  left  me;  and  a  vague  content  wrapped  me, 
mind  and  body. 

Distance,  time,  were  meaningless  to  me  now ;  I  could 
goon  forever;  I  could  lie  down  forever;  nothing  mat- 
tered ;  nothing  could  touch  me  now. 

The  moon  came  up,  flooding  the  woods  with  a  creamy 
light ;  then  a  little  stream,  sparkling  like  molten  silver, 
crossed  our  misty  path ;  then  a  bare  hill-side  stretched 
away,  pale  in  the  moonlight,  vanishing  into  a  luminous 
veil  of  vapor,  floating  over  a  hollow  where  unseen  water 
lay. 

We  entered  a  grove  of  still  trees  standing  wide  apart 
— maple-trees,  with  the  sap-pegs  still  in  the  bark.  I 
sat  down  on  a  log ;  the  Indians  seated  themselves  in 
a  wide  circle  around  me;  the  renegade  officer  walked 
to  the  fringe  of  trees  and  stood  there  motionless. 

Time  passed  serenely ;  I  had  fallen  drowsing,  soothed 
by  the  silvered  silence;  when  through  a  dream  I  heard 
a  cock-crow. 

Around  me  the  Indians  rose,  all  listening.  Far 
away  a  sound  grew  in  the  night  —  the  dull  blows  of 
horses'  hoofs  on  sod;  a  shot  rang  faintly,  a  distant 
cry  was  echoed  by  a  long-drawn  yell  and  a  volley. 

The  renegade  officer  came  running  back,  calling 
out,  "McCraw  has  struck  the  Legion  at  the  grist- 
mill 1" 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

In  the  intense  silence  around  me  the  noise  of  the 
conflict  grew,  increasing,  then  became  fainter  and  faint- 
er until  it  died  out  to  the  westward  and  all  was  still. 

The  Indians  came  crowding  back  from  the  edge  of 
the  grove,  shoving  through  the  circle  of  those  wh<> 
guarded  me,  pushing,  pressing,  surging  around  me. 

"Give  him  to  us!"  they  muttered, under  their  breath 
"The  flag  has  not  come;  they  will  hang  your  Walter 
Butler!    Give   him   to   us!    The   Legion   cavalry   is 
driving  your  riders  into  the  westl    Give  him  to  us  I 
We  wish  to  see  how  the  Oriskany  man  can  die!" 

Dragged,  pulled  from  one  to  another,  I  scarcely  felt 
their  eluuh;  I  scarcely  felt  the  furtive  blows  that  fell 
on  me.  The  officer  clung  to  me,  fighting  the  savages 
back  with  fist  and  elbow. 

"Wait  for  McCraw!"  he  panted.  "The  flag  may 
come  yet,  you  fools!  Would  you  murder  him  and  lose 
Walter  Butler  forever?  Wait  till  McCraw  comes,  I  tell 

"McCraw  is  riding  for  h  said  a  chief. 

"  lisa  lie!"  said  the  officer;  "he  is  drawing  th 
ambush!" 

ve  the  prisoner  to  us!"  cried  the  savages,  clos- 
"  After  all,  what  do  we  care  for  your  Walter 
Butler!"   And  again  they  rushed  forward  with  a  shout 
Twice  the  officer  drove  them  back  with  kicks  and 
blows,  cursing  their  treachery  in  McCraw's  absence; 
then,  as  they  drew  their  knives,  clamoring,  threat 
ing,  gathering  for  a  last  rush,  into  their  midst  bounded 
an  unearthly  shape — a  squat  and  hideous  figure,  flut- 
ng  with  scarlet  rags.     Arms   akimho,   the  thing 
planted  itself  before  me,  mouthing  and  slavering 
fury. 

ic  Toad  -  woman !  Catrine  Montour !  The  Toad- 
witch!  "groaned  the  Senecas, shrinking  hack,  huddling 
together  as  the  hag  whirled  about  and  pointed  at  them. 

328 


THE    CRISIS 

"  I  want  him  1  I  want  him !  Give  him  to  me ! "  yelped 
the  Toad-woman.  "  Fools !  Do  you  know  where  you 
are?  Do  you  know  this  grove  of  maple- trees?" 

The  Indians,  amazed  and  cowed,  slunk  farther  back. 
The  hag  fixed  her  blazing  eyes  on  them  and  raised 
her  arms. 

" Fools  1  Fools!"  she  mouthed,  "what  madness 
brought  you  here  to  this  grove? — to  this  place  where  the 
Stonish  Giants  have  returned,  riding  out  of  Biskoona!" 

A  groan  burst  from  the  Indians ;  a  chief  raised  his 
arms,  making  the  False-Faces'  sign. 

"Mother,"  he  stammered,  "we  did  not  know  I  We 
heard  that  the  Stonish  Giants  had  returned ;  the  Onon- 
dagas  sent  us  word,  but  we  did  not  kruow  this  grove 
was  where  they  gathered  from  Biskoona !  McCraw  sent 
us  here  to  await  the  flag." 

"Liar!"  hissed  the  hag. 

"It  is  the  truth,"  muttered  the  chief,  shuddering. 
"Witness  if  I  speak  the  truth,  0  ensigns  of  the  three 
clans!" 

And  a  hollow  groan  burst  from  the  cowering  sav- 
ages. "We  witness,  mother.  It  is  the  truth!" 

"Witch!"  cried  the  officer,  in  a  shaking  voice,  "what 
would  you  do  with  my  prisoner?  You  shall  not  have 
him,  by  the  living  God!" 

"Senecas,  take  him!"  howled  the  hag,  pointing  at 
the  officer.  The  fellow  strove  to  draw  his  claymore, 
but  staggered  and  sank  to  the  ground,  covered  under 
a  mass  of  savages.  Then,  dragged  to  his  feet,  they 
pulled  him  back,  watching  the  Toad -woman  for  a 
sign. 

"To  purge  this  grove!  To  purge  the  earth  of  the 
Stonish  Giants!"  she  howled.  "For  this  1  ask  this 
prisoner.  Give  him  to  me! — to  me,  priestess  of  the 
six  fires!  Tiyanoga  calls  from  behind  the  moon! 
What  Seneca  dares  disobey?  Give  him  to  me  for  a 

329 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

sacrifice  to  Biskoona,  that  the  Stonish  ghosts  be  laid 
and  the  doors  of  fire  be  closed  i 

tke  him  1     Spare  us  the  dreadful  rites,  O  mot! 
answered  the  chief,  in  a  quivering  voice.     "Slay  him 
before  us  now  and  let  us  see  the  color  of  his  blood, 
so  that  we  may  depart  in  peace  ere  the  Stonish  Giants 
ride  forth  from  Biskoona  and  leave  not  one  among  us  I" 

"Neah!"  cried  the  hag,  furiously.  "He  dies  in  se- 
cret!" 

There  was  a  silence  of  astonishment    Spite  of  • 
superstitious  terror,  the  Senecas  knew  that  a  sac: 
cial  death,  to  close  Biskoona,  could  not  occur  in  secret 
Suddenly  the  chief  leaped  forward  and  dealt  me  a  blow 
with  his  castete.    I  f<ll,  but  staggered  to  my  feet  again. 

"Mother!"  began  the  chief /'let  him  die  quick  i 

"Silence!"  screamed  the  hag,  supporting  me. 
hear,  far  off,  the  gates  of  Biskoona  opening!     1  i 
Ta-hone-ho-ga-wenl    The  doors  open  —  the   doors  of 
flame!    The  Stonish  Giants  ride  forth!    O  chief,  for 
your  sacrilege  you  die!" 

A  horrified  silence  followed;  the  chief  reeled  back, 
dropping  the  death-maul. 

<lenly  a  horse's  iron-shod  foot  rang  out  on  a 
stone,  dose  at  hand.  Straight  thn  >\u' h  the  moonlight, 
advancing  steadily,  came  a  snorting  horse;  and,  tow- 
ering in  the  saddle,  a  magic  shape  clad  in  complete 
steel,  glittering  in  the  moonlight 

"Oonah!"  shrieked  the  hag,  seizing  me  in  both  arms. 

With  an  unearthly  howl  the  Senecas  fled ;  the  Toad- 
woman  dropped  me  and  bounded  on  the  dazed  rene- 
gade; he  turned,  crying  out  in  horror,  stumbled,  and 
fell  headlong  down  the  bushy  slope. 

Then,  as  the  hag  halted,  she  seemed  to  grow,  straight- 
ening up,  tall,  broad,  superb;  towering  into  a  supple 
shape  from  which  the  scarlet  rags  fell  fluttering  around 
like  painted  maple-leaves. 
330 


THE    CRISIS 

''Magdalen  Brant!"  I  gasped,  swaying  where  1 
stood,  the  blood  almost  blinding  me. 

From  behind  two  steel-clad  arms  seized  me  and 
dragged  me  backward;  I  stumbled  against  the  horse; 
the  armored  figure  bent  swiftly,  caught  me  up,  swung 
me  clear  into  the  saddle  in  front,  while  the  armor 
creaked  and  strained  and  clashed  with  the  effort. 

Then  my  head  was  drawn  gently  back,  falling  on  a 
steel  shoulder;  two  arms  were  thrust  under  mine,  seiz- 
ing the  bridle.  The  horse  wheeled  towards  the  north, 
stepping  quietly  through  the  moonlight,  steadily,  slowly 
northward,  through  misty  woodlands  and  ferny  glades 
and  deep  fields  swimming  under  the  moon,  across  a 
stony  stream,  up  through  wet  meadows,  into  a  silvery 
road,  and  across  a  bridge  which  echoed  mellow  thunder 
under  the  trample  of  the  iron-shod  horse. 

The  stockade  gate  was  shut;  an  old  slave  opened 
it — a  trembling  black  man,  who  shot  the  bolts  and 
tottered  beside  us,  crying  and  pressing  my  hand  to  his 
eyes. 

Men  came  from  the  stables,  men  ran  from  the  quar- 
ters, lanterns  Lclimmered,  windows  in  the  house  open- 
ed, and  I  heard  a  vague  clamor  growing  around  me, 
fainter  now,  yet  dinning  in  my  ears  until  a  soft,  dense 
darkness  fell,  weighing  on  my  lids  till  they  closed. 


xxn 

THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING 

DAY  broke  with  a  thundering  roll  of  drums.     In- 
I  stumbled  out  of  bed,  drafted  ..n  my 
clothes,  and,  half  awake  and  half  dressed,  crept  to 
open  window.     The  level  morning  sun  blazed  on  a« 

slanting  rifles  passing;  a  solid  column  of  Conti- 
nental mf.tntry,  drums  and  fifes  leading,  came  swi 

he  stockade;  knapsacks,  cross-belts,  gaiters, 
gray  with  dust ;  officers  riding  ahead  with  naked  sw< 
drawn,  color-bearers  carrying  the  beautiful  new  st«. 
ard,  stars  shining,  red  and  white  stripes  stirring  la/ 
in  brilliant,  silken  billows. 

The  morning  air  rang  with  th  :hr 

fifes,  the  drums  beat  steadily  in  solid  cadence  to  the 
lone,  nppling  trample  of  feet 

\\ithm  the  stockade  an  incessant  clamor  filled  thu 
air;  the  grounds  around  the  house  were  packed  with 
soldiers,  some  leading  out  mules,  some  loading  batt- 
horses,  some  drawing  and  carrying  water,  some  form- 
ing ranks,  shouting  their  numbers  for  column  of  foi 

<  George  Covert's  riders  of  the  Legion  had  halted 
under  my  window,  rifles  slung,  helmets  strapped;  a 
trumpeter  in  embroidered  jacket  sat  his  horse  in  front, 
corded  trumpet  reversed  flat  on  his  thigh. 

Gearing  my  eyes  with  unsteady  hand,  I  peered 
dizzily  at  the  spectacle  below;  my  ears  rang  with  the 
tumult  of  arrival  and  departure;  and,  through  the  in- 
creasing uproar  and  the  thundering  rhythm  of  th* 

332 


THE    END    OF   THE   BEGINNING 

drums,  memories  of  the  past  night  flashed  up,  livid 
as  flames  in  darkness. 

The  endless  columns  of  Continentals  were  still  pour- 
ing by  the  stockade,  when,  above  the  dinning  drums, 
I  heard  my  door  shaking  and  a  voice  calling  me  by 
name. 

"  Ormond !     Ormond !     Open  the  door,  man  1 " 

With  stiff  limbs  dragging,  I  made  my  way  to  the  door 
and  pulled  back  the  bolt.  Sir  George  Covert,  in  full 
uniform,  sprang  in  and  caught  my  hands  in  his. 

" Ormond  1  Ormond!"  he  cried,  in  deep  reproach. 
"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  long  since  that  37ou  loved 
her?  You  knew  she  loved  you!  What  blind  vio- 
lence have  you  and  Dorothy  done  yourselves  and  each 
other — and  me,  Ormond! — and  yet  another  very  dear 
to  me — with  your  mad  obstinacy  and  mistaken  chiv- 
alry!" 

I  saw  the  grave,  kind  eyes  searching  mine,  I  heard 
his  unsteady  voice,  but  I  could  not  respond.  An  im- 
mense fatigue  chained  mind  and  tongue;  intelligence 
was  there,  but  the  tension  had  relaxed,  and  I  stood 
dull,  nerveless,  my  hands  limp  in  his. 

"Ormond,"  he  said,  gently,  "we  ride  south  in  a  few 
moments;  you  will  be  leaving  for  Stillwater  in  an 
hour.  Gates's  left  wing  is  marching  on  Balston,  and 
news  is  in  by  an  Oneida  runner  that  Arnold  has  swept 
all  before  him ;  Stanwix  is  safe ;  St.  Leger  routed.  Do 
you  understand?  Everv  man  in  Tryon  County  is 
inarching  on  Burgoyne!  You,  too,  will  be  on  the  way 
towards  headquarters  within  the  hour!" 

Trembling  from  weakness  and  excitement,  I  could 
only  look  at  him  in  silence. 

"  So  all  is  well,"  he  said,  gravely,  holding  my  hands 
tighter.  "Do  you  understand?  All  is  well,  Ormond. 
.  .  .  We  struck  McCraw  at  Schell's  last  night  and  tore 
him  to  atoms.  We  punished  the  Senecas  dreadfully. 

333 


THE    MA1D-AT-ARMS 

We  have  cleared  the  land  of  the  Johnsons,  the  Buth 
the  McDonalds,  and  the  Mohawks,  and  now  we're  t 
centra  ting  on  Burgoyne.     Ormond,  he  is  a  doomed 
man!     He  can  never  leave  this  land  save  as  a  pris- 
on. 

Ilis  grip  tightened ;  a  smile  lighted  his  carev 
as  though  a  ray  of  pure  sunshine  had  struck  In 

"Ormond,"  he  said,  "I  have  bred  much 
among  us  all,  yet  with  the  kindest  motives  in  tlu  world. 
If  honor  and  modesty  forbids  an  explanation,  at  least 
let  me  repair  what  I  can.     I  have  given  your  COUMH 
Dorothy  her  freedom ;  and  now,  before  I  go,  I  ask  \ 
friendship.     Nay,  give  me  more — gi  v,  Ormond ! 

Man,  man,  must  I  speak  more  plainly  still?    Mu 
name  the  bravest  maid  in  *  u?    Must  I  say 

that  the  woman  I  love  loves  me — Magdalen  Brant?" 

He  laughed  like  a  boy  in  his  c  "We 

wed  in  Albany  on  Thursday!     Think  of  it.  man!     I 
showed  her  no  I  warrant  >«»u,  soon  as  I  was 

free'" 

He  colored  vividly.     "Nay,  that's  ungall.mt  to  our 
Maid-at-Arms,"  he  stammered.     "I'm  flustered— 
will  pardon  that     She  rides  \\ith   us  to  Albany— I 
mean  Magdalen — we  wed  at  ray  aunt's  house — " 

The  trumpet  of  the  Legion  was  sounding  persist- 
ently;  the  clatter  of  spurred  boots  filled  the  hallway; 
Ruyven  burst  in,  sabre  hanging,  and  flung  himself 
into  my  arras. 

" Good-bye!    Good-bye!"  he  cried.     "  We  are  march- 
ing with  the  left  wing  to  Balston.     Ill  \ou, 
when  we  take  Burgoyne  —  I'll  write  you  all 
about  it  and  exactly  how  I  conducted!" 

I  felt  the  parting  clasp  of  their  hands,  but  sc;i 
saw  them  through  the  tears  of  .sheer  weakness  t 
filled  my  eyes.    The  capacity  for  deep  emotion  was 
deadened  in  me;  the  strain  had  been  too  great;  the  re- 

334 


THE    END   OF   THE    BEGINNING 

action  had  left  me  scarcely  capable  of  realizing  the 
instant  portent  of  events. 

The  mellow  trampling  of  horses  came  from  below. 
I  hobbled  to  the  window  and  looked  down  where  the 
troopers  were  riding  in  fours,  falling  in  behind  a  train  of 
artillery  which  passed  jolting  and  bumping  along  the 
stockade. 

A  young  girl,  superbly  mounted,  came  galloping 
by,  and  behind  her  spurred  Sir  George  Covert  and 
Ruyven.  At  full  speed  she  turned  her  head  and 
looked  up  at  my  window,  and  I  think  I  never  saw  such 
radiant  happiness  in  any  woman's  face  as  in  Mag- 
dalen Brant's  when  she  swept  past  with  a  gesture  of 
adieu  and  swung  her  horse  out  into  the  road.  A  gen- 
eral's escort  and  staff  checked  their  horses  to  make 
way  for  her.  The  officers  lifted  their  black  cockaded 
hats;  a  slim,  boyish  officer,  in  a  white-and-gold  uni- 
form, rode  forward  to  receive  her,  with  a  low  salute 
that  only  a  Frenchman  could  imitate. 

So,  escorted  by  prancing,  clattering  cavalry,  and 
surrounded  by  a  brilliant  staff,  Magdalen  Brant  rode 
away  from  Varicks';  and  beside  her,  alert,  upright, 
transfigured,  rode  Sir  George  Covert,  whose  life  she 
had  accepted  only  after  she  had  paid  her  debt  to 
Dorothy  by  offering  her  own  life  to  rescue  mine. 

Dim-eyed,  I  stared  at  the  passing  troops,  the  blurred 
colors  of  their  uniforms  ever  changing  as  the  regiments 
succeeded  each  other,  now  brown  and  red,  now  green 
and  red,  now  gray  and  yellow,  as  Massachusetts  in- 
fantry, New  York  line,  and  Morgan's  Rifles  poured 
steadily  by  in  unbroken  columns. 

Wrapped  in  my  chamber-robe,  head  supported  on 
my  hand,  I  sat  by  the  window,  dully  content,  striving 
to  think,  to  realize  all  that  had  befallen  me.  The 
glitter  of  the  passing  rifles,  the  constantly  changing 
hues  and  colors,  the  movement,  the  noise,  set  my  head 

335 


THE    MATD-AT-ARMS 

swimming.     Yet  I  must  prepare  to  leave  within  the 
hour,  for  the  stable  bells  were  ringing  for  eight  o'cl<- 

Cato  scratched  at  the  door  and  entered,  hni. 
me  hot  water,  and  hovering  around  me  with  napkin, 
salve,  and  basin,  till  my  battered  body  had  been  bathed, 
my  face  shaved,  and  my  bruised  head  washed  \\1 
the  Seneca  castete   had   glanced,   tearing   the  si 
Clothed  in  fresh   linen  and  a  new  uniform,  sent  by 
Schuyler,  I  bade  him  call  Sir  Lupus ;  who  came  pres- 
ently, his  mouth  full  of  toast,  a  mug  of  cooled  ale  m 
one  hand,  clay  pipe  in  the  other 

He  laid  his  pipe  on  the  mantel,  set  his  mug  on  a 
chair,  and  embraced  me,  shaking  his  head  in  solemn 
silence;  and  we  sat  for  a  space,  considering  one 
other,  while  Cato  filled  my  bowl  with  chocolate  and  re- 
moved the  cover  from  mv  smoking  porridu 

"They  beat  all,"  said  Sir  Lupus,  at  length;  "don't 
they,  George?" 

"  Do  you  mean  our  troops,  sir?"  I  asked. 

"  No,  sir,  I  don't.     I  mean  our  worn* 

lit    struck  his  fat  leg  with  his  jyalm,  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  regarded  me,  arms  akimbo. 

"M.:  all  stark,  raving  mad  I     Look  at  those 

two  chits  of  girls!    The  Legion  had  gone  tearing  off 
after  you  to  Schell's  with  an  Oneida  scout;  Sir  Ge< 
pops  in  with  his  tale  of  your  horrid  plight,  then  i*  Its 
off  to  find  his  tror.pcrs  and  do  what  he  could  to  save 
i      Gad,  George!   it  looked  bad  for  you.     I — I  was 
half  out  o'  my  senses,  thinking  of  you;  and  what  with 
the  children  a-squalling  and  the  household  ni.shm-j  up 
stairs  and  down,  and  the  militia  marching  to  the  gi 
mill  bridge,  I  did  nothing.     What  the  devil  was  I  to 
do? 

ou  did  quite  right,  sir,"  I  said,  gravely. 
lay  back,  staring  at  me,  shoving  his  fat  hands 
into  his  breeches  pockets. 

336 


THE    END    OF    THE    BEGINNING 

"If  I'd  known  what  that  baggage  o'  mine  was  bent 
on,  I'd  ha'  locked  her  in  the  cellar!  .  .  .  George,  you 
won't  hold  that  against  me,  will  you?  She's  my  own 
daughter.  But  the  hussy  was  gone  with  Magdalen 
Brant  before  I  dreamed  of  it — gone  on  the  maddest 
moonlight  quest  that  mortal  ever  dared  conceive! — one 
in  rags  cut  from  a  red  blanket,  t'other  in  that  rotten 
old  armor  that  your  aunt  thought  fit  to  ship  from 
England  when  her  father  stripped  the  house  to  cross 
an  ocean  and  build  in  the  forests  of  a  new  world. 
George,  she's  all  Orinond,  that  girl  o'  mine.  A  Varick 
would  never  have  thought  to  cut  such  a  caper,  I  tell 
you.  It  isn't  in  our  line;  it  isn't  in  Dutch  blood  to 
imagine  such  things,  or  do  'em  either  1" 

He  seized  pipe  and  mug,  swearing  under  his  breath. 

"It  was  the  bravest  thing  I  ever  knew,"  I  said, 
huskily. 

He  dipped  his  nose  into  his  mug,  pulled  at  his  long 
pipe,  and  eyed  me  askance. 

"What  the  devil's  this  between  you  and  Dorothy?" 
he  growled. 

"Nothing,  I  trust  now,  sir,"  I  answered,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Oh!  'nothing,  you  trust  now,  sir!'  "  he  mimicked, 
striving  to  turn  a  sour  face.  "Dammy,  d'  ye  know 
that  I  meant  her  for  Sir  George  Covert?"  His  broad 
face  softened ;  he  attempted  to  scowl,  and  failed  utterly. 
"Thank  God,  the  land's  clear  of  these  bandits  of  St. 
Leger,  anyhow!"  he  snorted.  "I'll  work  my  mills  and 
I'll  scrape  enough  to  pay  my  debts.  I  suppose  I'll 
have  you  on  my  hands  when  you've  finished  with 
Burgoyne." 

"No,"  I  said,  smiling,  "the  blow  that  Arnold  struck 
at  Stanwix  will  be  felt  from  Maine  to  the  Florida  Keys. 
The  blow  to  be  delivered  twenty  miles  north  of  us  will 
settle  any  questions  of  land  confiscation.  No,  Sir 

337 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

Lupus,  I  shall  not  be  on  your  hands,  but  ...  you  may 
be  on  mine  if  you  turn  Tory  I" 

"You  impudent  rogue!"  he  cried,  struggling  to  his 
feet;  then,  still  clutching  pipe  and  pewter,  he  embraced 
me,  and  choked  and  chuckled,  laying  his  fat  1 
my  shoulder.  "Be  a  son  to  me,  George,"  he  whim- 
pered, sentimentally;  "if  you  won't,  you're  a  damned 
ungrateful  pup  I" 

And  he  took  himself  off,  sniffing,  and  sucking  at  Ins 
long  clay,  which  had  gone  out. 

.rned  to  the  window,  drawing  in  deep  breaths  of 
sweet,  pure  morning  air.  Troops  were  still  p»««n£ 
in  solid  column,  grim,  dirty  soldiers  in  heavy  cowhide 
knapsacks,  leather  gaiters,  and  blue  great -coats  I 
toned  back  at  the  skirts ;  and  I  heard  the  militia  at  the 
quarters  calling  across  the  stable -yard  that  these 
grimy  battalions  were  some  of  Washington's  veterans, 
ried  north  from  West  Point  by  his  ency  to 

stiffen  the  backbone  of  Lincoln's  militia,  who  prowled, 
growling  and  snarling,  around  Burgoyne's  right  flank 

They  were  a  gaunt,  hard-eyed,  firm-jawed  1<  »t ,  march- 
ing with  a  peculiar  cadence  and  swing  which  set  all 
their  muskets  and  buckles  glittering  at  one  i 
as  though  a  thousand  tin  rs  had  been  tin 

to  the  light,  then  turned  away.     And,  pat!  pat  I  patter  I 
patter]   patl  went  their  single  company  drums,  and 

:  drummers  seemed  to  beat  mechanical! v,  uiti 
waste  of  energy,  yet  with  a  dry,  rattling  precision  t 
I  had  never  heard  save  in  the  <  Ad  days  when  the  Br  r 
troops  at  New  Smyrna  or  St  Augustine  marched  • 

od-mornin',  sorr,"  came  a  hearty  and   some- 
what loud  voice  from  below ;  and  I  saw  Murphy,  K 
son,  and  Mount,  arm  in  .inn,  swaggering  past  with 
that  saunter  that  none  but  a  b<»rn  forest  runner  may 
hope  to  imitate.     They  were  not  sober. 

I  spoke  to  them  kindly,  however,  asking  them  if  their 

338 


THE    END   OF    THE    BEGINNING 

wants  were  fully  supplied;  and  they  acknowledged 
with  enthusiasm  that  they  could  desire  nothing  better 
than  Sir  Lupus's  buttery  ale. 

"  Wisha,  then,  sorr,"  said  Murphy,  jerking  his 
thumb  towards  the  sombre  column  passing,  "thim 
laads  is  the  laads  f  'r  to  twisht  th'  Dootch  pigtails  on 
thim  Hissians  at  Half -moon.  They  do  be  pigtails 
on  th'  Dootch  a  fut  long  in  the  eel-skin.  Faith,  I  saw 
McCraw's  scalp — 'twas  wan  o'  Harrod's  men  tuk  it, 
not  I,  sorr ! — an'  'twas  red  an'  ratty,  wid  nary  a  lock  to 
lift  it,  more  shame  to  McCraw!" 

Mount  stood,  balancing  now  on  his  heels,  now  on 
his  toes,  inhaling  and  expelling  his  breath  like  a  man 
who  has  had  more  than  a  morning  draught  of  cider. 

He  laid  his  head  on  one  side,  like  an  enormous  bird, 
and  regarded  me  with  a  simper,  as  though  lost  in  ad- 
miration. 

"Three  cheers  for  the  Colonel,"  he  observed,  thickly, 
and  took  off  his  cap. 

"  'Ray!"  echoed  Elerson,  regarding  the  unsteadiness 
of  Mount's  legs  with  an  expression  of  wonder  and  pity. 

I  bade  Mount  saddle  my  mare  and  prepare  to  ac- 
company me  to  headquarters.  He  saluted  amiably; 
presently  they  started  across  the  yard  for  their  quar- 
ters, distributing  morsels  of  wisdom  and  advice  among 
the  militiamen,  who  stared  at  them  with  awe  and  point- 
ed at  their  beaded  shot  -  pouches,  which  were,  alasl 
adorned  with  fringes  of  coarse  hair,  dyed  scarlet. 

But  Morgan  must  worry  over  that.  I  had  other  mat- 
ters to  stir  me  and  set  my  pulses  beating  heavily  as 
I  walked  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  looked  out  into  the 
hallway. 

Children's  voices  came  from  the  library  below;  I 
rested  my  hand  on  the  banisters,  aiding  my  stiffened 
limbs  in  the  descent,  and  limped  down  the  stairs. 

Cecile  spied  me  first.  She  was  sitting  on  the  porch 
339 


THE    MAID  -AT-ARMS 

with  a  very,  very  youni;  ensign  of  Half-moon  militia^ 
'  hinq-  the  passing  troops;  and  she  sprang  (o  her 
feet  and  threw  her  arms  about  my  neck,  kissing  me 
again  and  again,  a  proceeding  viewed  with  concern 
by  the  very  young  ensign  of  Half-moon  militia. 

"You  darling!"   she  wl  Dorothy's  in  tlu* 

library  with  father  and  the  children.     Ix?an  on  me,  you 
poor  boy !     How  you  have  suffered !     And  to  thi n k  t  h,  1 1 
i  loved  her  all  the  time'     Ah!"  she  whispered,  sen- 
timentally, pressing  my  arm,  "how  rare  is  con 
How  adorable  it  must  be  to  be  adored!" 

There  was  a  rush  of  children  as  we  entered,  and 
Cecile  cried,  "  You  little  beasts,  have  you  no  man  IK 
But  they  were  clinging  to  me,  limb  and  body,  and  I 
stood  there,  caressing  them,  eyes  fixed  on  my  cousin 
Dorothy,  who  had  risen  from  her  eh 

She  was  very  pale  and  quiet,  and  the  hand  she  left 

mine  seemed  lifeless  as  I  bent  to  I  Jut.  upon 

the  bridal  finger,  I  saw  the  ghost-ring,  a   thin,  rosy 

band,  and  1  thrilled  from  head  to  foot  with  happiness 

unspeakable. 

"Get  him  a  Harry!"  said  Sir  Lupus.     "Sit 

down,  George;  and  what  shall  it  be,  my  boy,  < 
mulled    or  spiced   to    cheer    you   on   your    joum 

as   the  G  lencoe    brawlers    ha  \  e    it,      \\  1          i  i 
poon 

I  sank  into  my  chair,  saying  I  desired  nothing ;  and 
my  eyes  never  left  Dorothy,  who  sat  with  golden  head 
bent,  folding  and  refolding  the  ruffled  corner  of  her 
apron,  raising  her  lovely  eyes  at  moments  to  look 
across  at  me. 

The  morning  had  turned  raw  and  chilly;  a  log-fire 
crackled  on  the  hearth,  where  Benny  had  set  a  row  of 
early  harvest  apples  to  sizzle  and  steam  and  perfume 
the  air,  the  while  Dorothy  heard  Harry,  Sammy,  and 
Benny  read  their  morning  lessons,  so  that  they  might 

340 


THE    END    OF    THE    BEGINNING 

hurry  away  to  watch  the  passing  army  of  their  pet 
hero,  Gates. 

"Come/'  cried  the  patroon,  "read  your  lessons  and 
get  out,  you  young  dunces!  Now,  Sammy  I" 

Dorothy  looked  at  me  and  took  up  her  book. 

"If  Amos  gives  Joseph  sixteen  apples,  and  Joseph 
gives  Amanda  two  times  one  half  of  one  half  of  the 
apples,  how  many  will  Amanda  have?"  demanded 
Samuel,  with  labored  breath.  "And  the  true  answer 
to  that  is  six." 

Dorothy  nodded  and  stole  a  glance  at  me. 

"That  doesn't  sound  quite  right  to  me,"  said  Sir 
Lupus,  wrinkling  his  brows  and  counting  on  his  fin- 
gers. "  Is  that  the  answer,  Dorothy?" 

"I  don't  know,"  vshe  murmured,  eyes  fixed  on  me. 

Sir  Lupus  glared  at  Dorothy,  then  at  me.  Then  he 
stuffed  his  pipe  full  of  tobacco  and  sat  in  grim  silence 
while  Benny  repeated: 

"Theven  timeth  theven  ith  theventy-theven ;  theven 
timeth  eight  ith  thixty-thix."  While  Dorothy  nodded 
absently  and  plaited  the  edges  of  her  lace  apron,  and 
looked  at  me  under  lowered  lashes.  And  Benny  lisped 
on:  "Theven  timeth  nine  ith  theventy-thix ;  theven — " 

"  Stop  that  nonsense!"  burst  out  Sir  Lupus.  "  Take 
'em  away,  Cecile!  Take  'em  out  o'  my  sight!" 

The  children,  only  too  delighted  to  escape,  rushed 
forth  with  whoops  and  hoots,  demanding  to  be  shown 
their  hero,  General  Gates.  Sir  Lupus  looked  after 
them  sardonically. 

"We're  a  race  o'  glory -mongers  these  days/'  he 
said.  "Gad,  I  never  thought  to  see  offspring  o'  mine 
chasing  the  drums!  Look  at  'em  now!  Ruyven 
hunting  about  Tryon  County  for  a  Hessian  to  knock 
him  in  the  head;  Cecile  sitting  in  rapture  with  every 
cornet  or  ensign  who'll  notice  her;  the  children  yelling 
for  Lafayette  and  Washington;  Dorothy,  here,  play- 

341 


THE    MAID-AT-ARMS 

at  Donna  Quixote,  and  you  starting  for  Stillwater 
to  teach  that  fool,  Gates,  how  to  catch  Burgoyne.  Set 
an  ass  to  catch  an  ass — eh,  George? — " 

He  stopped,  his  small  eyes  twinkling  with  a  softer 
light 

"  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  go,"  he  said. 

We  did  not  rej>l 

"Oh,  I'm  going,"  he  added,  fretfully    "I'm  no  com- 
pany  for  a  pair  o'  heroes,  a  colonel,  and — " 

"Touching  the  colonelcy,"  I  said,  "  I  want  to  make  it 
plain  that  I  shall  refuse  the  promotion.  I  did  nothing; 
the  confederacy  was  split  by  Magdalen  Brant,  not  by 
im  1  did  nothing  at  Oriskany ;  I  cannot  underst 
how  General  Schuyler  should  think  me  deserving  of 
such  promotion.  And  I  am  ashamed  to  take  it  when 
such  men  as  Arnold  are  passed  over,  and  such  men  as 
Schuyler  are  slighted—" 

"Folderoll    What  the  devil's  this?"  bawled  Sir  Lu- 

Do  you  think  you  know  more  than  your 
perior  officers — hey  re  a  colonel,  George.     Let 

well  li  alone,  for  if  you  make  a  donkey  of  your- 

self, thrv'll  make  you  a  major-general!" 

With  a  spasmodic  effort  he  got  on  his  feet,  seized 
glass  and  pipe,  and  waddled  out  of  the  room,  slam- 
^  the  door  behind  him. 

In  the  ringing  silence  a  charred  log  broke  and  fell  in 
a  shower  of  sparks,  tincturing  the  air  with  the  perfume 
weet  birch  smoke. 

I  rose  from  my  chair.    Dorothy  rose,  too,  trembling. 
A  si  hyness  seemed  to  hold  us  apart    She  stood 

tlu  >rced  smile  stamped  on  her  lips,  watch 

UK  with  the  fascination  of  fear;  and  I  steadied  my 
on  the  arm  of  my  chair,  looking  deep  into  her  eyes, 
seeking  to  recognize  in  her  the  child  I  had  knov. 

I  IK    child  had  gone,  and  in  her  place  stood  tl 
lovely,  silent  stranger,  with  all  the  mystery  of  womar> 

342 


THE    END   OF    THE    BEGINNING 

hood  in  her  eyes — that  sweet  light,  exquisitely  pro- 
phetic, divinely  sad. 

"Dorothy,"  I  said,  under  ray  breath.  "All  that  is 
brave  and  adorable  in  you,  I  love  and  worship.  You 
have  risen  so  far  above  me — and  I  am  so  weak  and 
• — and  broken,  and  unworthy — " 

"I  love  you,"  she  faltered,  her  lips  scarcely  mov- 
ing. Then  the  color  surged  over  brow  and  throat; 
she  laid  her  hands  on  her  hot  cheeks ;  I  took  her  in  my 
arms,  holding  her  imprisoned.  At  my  touch  the  color 
faded  from  her  face,  leaving  it  white  as  a  flower. 

"I  fear  you — maid  spiritual,  maid  militant — Maid- 
at-Arms!"  I  stammered. 

"And  I  fear  you,"  she  murmured,  looking  at  me. 
"What  lover  does  the  whole  world  hold  like  you? 
What  hero  can  compare  with  you?  And  who  am  I 
that  I  should  take  you  away  from  the  whole  world? 
Sweetheart,  I  am  afraid." 

"Then  fear  no  more,"  I  whispered,  and  bent  my 
head.  She  raised  her  pale  face;  her  arms  crept  up 
around  my  neck  and  tightened,  clinging  closer  as  her 
closing  lips  met  mine. 

There  came  a  tapping  at  the  door,  a  shuffle  of  felt- 
shod  feet — 

"  Mars'  Gawge,  suh,  yo'  hoss  done  saddle',  suh." 


THE  END 


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